Sixteen years ago this week, I put the last few things in my beloved girl truck, grabbed Frank the darling dog and closed the 30-year chapter of living in Casper.
It was a season of big change, the move being the biggest.
That May, Molly graduated from high school, and true to the independent, almost feral way she was raised, moved out of the only home she had ever lived in on the night of her graduation party.
I was not happy, but she assured me that it was only a couple of months ahead of schedule, because there was “no way” she was living at home while attending Casper College.
Sadly, that first move did not end well for her, and it took a couple more moves for her to wind up in a good place, both physically and mentally.
That July, she and I drove alone to Green Bay for the cousins’ reunion Mom had worked so hard to put together.
Also in July, the cookbook that the Casper Star-Tribune let me write was finally published.
And then in early August, I completed a house sell, pack and buy in exactly four weeks.
Looking back, I have no idea how that actually happened, except I must have had a whole lot more energy than I do now.
Owen was not at all pleased that I was moving to his town, but since I was an empty nester, I thought it made perfect sense. In hindsight, it was not the best decision.
My kids thought I had abandoned them and in a sense, I think they still feel that way.
Ours was not the Ozzie & Harriet home where they would just pop in unannounced. Large spans of time would go by without hearing from either one of them. And sadly, that has not changed.
Now they think 25 miles is a long way to come just to visit the old lady.
Do I regret the move? Every day.
Owen tries to remind me that they both have busy lives, and if I were in Casper, they wouldn’t be any more inclined to visit.
During Covid, I wrote that my dream would be to have an enormous compound, large enough for both kids and their families to all live together.
Both kids immediately and to this day think that’s a terrible idea.
And after our most recent four-night getaway to western Wyoming, Owen and I both agree that we could never live together unless we had our own private soundproof suites.
He likes to have the TV on — loud — all the time.
I demand quiet to read and quiet and dark when it’s time to try to sleep.
There are not many compromises that can be reached between loud and silent in a standard hotel room.
I know that thoughts of home are hitting harder since our last trip to Green Bay. It was sobering to know that Mom is never going back to her dream home, even though she is very happy that my sister and her family are there.
I have been trying to clean out this tiny homestead, so that my kids aren’t left with all the work “some day.”
I made them promise that they wouldn’t dispose of a single book, and that the Christmas village from Mom would not be dumped either.
When I kind of begged them to start coming down so we could go through stuff together, Joe calmly said there aren’t enough pizza rolls anywhere to get him to do that.
And Molly looked over at my substantial stash of wine and wondered aloud if that would be enough to get the job done.
Do I wish they were 9 and 3 again? Every day.
Do I wish we were all in that ramshackle ranch house with the bad roof, falling down fence and bow in the dining room floor? Every day.
But it’s dangerous to live too long in the memories.
So I look at my Sophie snoring on the back of the couch, and my four tiny flower pots full of geraniums and petunias, recently watered and thriving.
I feel the breeze from the newly installed living room fan and plan what to fix Owen for supper.
And instead of wondering what if, I pray for my kids and count my blessings.
Sally Ann Shurmur can be reached at: SallyAnnShurmur@gmail.com
