Phoenix, Arizona

I wish there were words to express my heart at the thought of leaving our Phoenix home.

I feel a hole so deep, a pain renewed, a wound uncovered.

I am heartbroken.

Because leaving Arizona feels like Jake is dying all over again.  It is the death of the life we made together. It is the death of the home we created, lived in and loved. It is the end of the life we shared on earth.

I have complete assurance that this move is right for our family. I have full trust that we will land on our feet and be ok. If we weren't moving to be near our parents I would not do it. But just because something is right, does not mean that it is easy.

We bought this, our first home together. I well remember signing the papers and Jake sweating bullets at taking on such a big responsibility, as he was the sole breadwinner for our family. He had only been working for a year and we'd been apartment dwellers until that point. We had our little Lauren and I was due with Ellie in December. We actually moved into our home on my birthday and I remember Jake telling me that he was giving me the biggest birthday present I would ever get.

And last week I went in, alone, and signed the papers to sell our home. To add insult to injury the paperwork stated "Jordan R., an unmarried woman, is selling the home located at (address) to ...... a married couple." Oh the heartbreak at seeing those words on paper.

I can see why conventional wisdom says to not make a drastic change for a year after your loved one has died. After just going through the very hard and traumatic experience of their death, your heart can hardly stand any other big changes. Again, I can see God's wisdom in setting this up well before we knew Jake was going to die. I am overwhelmingly grateful that Jake was part of, rather driving, this moving decision process. 

But Phoenix.

It has my heart.

I love completely and intensely and that intensity carries over to my grief at the thought of leaving.

I will maintain the friendships we formed here. I really do want everyone we know to come and visit us in Provo. We will come back often and visit. But the reality of proximity, of being a part of the action, of daily living with people we have come to love cannot be replaced.

We love this desert place. The blistering heat, the plethora of pools, the springlike winters, the succulent beauty, the flaming sunsets, the numberless miles of concrete and strip malls, the royal palm trees, the limitless shopping and dining opportunities, the mecca called Last Chance......I could go on and on.

But mainly it is the beauty of the people, the intense love of the Arizonans that will forever sustain, comfort and warm my heart.

I can see how Heavenly Father prepared a safety net to catch us as we fell off of the tightrope walk called cancer. For years, that net was being weaved with each new relationship, each new experience, each party, phone call, interaction with people all around us. At work, at church, at school, in the neighborhood, at community classes, in volunteering, at the library. He was preparing us to be surrounded, sustained and maintained by the combined love of so many people.

It is overwhelming to see now how intricately He had things prepared to soften the blows that came.

I will be forever grateful for the love and service that was so freely given to us the whole time we lived here, but intensified throughout the course of Jake's illness, decline and death.

That loved saved us. Over and over, again and again that love caught us as we fell. The net called Arizona held fast and sure, strong and true.

And as the kids and I turn towards this next chapter in our lives, I will forever be grateful for this desert state and its beloved people.

For Arizona.

Our home.