There’s one week left in this apartment, and I’d love to tell you things are going smoothly.
But that wouldn’t be honest—and this space was never meant to be anything but.
💔 Holding Space for Two Realities
Lately, life has been split between boxes and chemo appointments.
Every other weekend, I pack up a bag and head to my grandfather’s house to care for him as he moves through chemotherapy.
He’s only two treatments in, with the third just around the corner, and while the symptoms have been mild so far, the emotional toll is heavy.
Each visit, he says the same thing: “That was probably my last one.”
And each time, we gently remind him—“No, you still have a few months to go.”
But I don’t think he hears us. Or maybe he does and just can’t bear to believe it.
Grief, it seems, doesn’t wait for the body to give out.
Sometimes it arrives early, dressed as dread.
🫧 Mold, Mildew, and the Breaking Point
As if that wasn’t enough, mold and mildew decided to bloom inside the apartment.
It hit fast—and hard. I got sick almost immediately.
There was a moment I thought I’d end up in the ER and a lawsuit at the same time.
I’m still waiting for the complex to replace the drywall they cut out.
In the meantime, I’m packing while breathing shallow and sleeping light, trying to get to the finish line without collapsing at it.
🔋 Preparing for Plan B (and C)
Somewhere between the doctor visits and damp walls, I made a purchase: a Jackery solar generator.
Not for fun. Not for “van life vibes.”
But in case I need to car camp. Again.
Sometimes freedom looks like preparation, not aesthetics.
But there’s hope on the horizon—a camper I’m going to look at this weekend.
If it’s in good enough shape, I’ll take it. I’ll have just enough time to move in, settle (as much as one can), and start adapting it into something livable.
It has water damage in the bathroom—of course it does.
But I’ve remodeled on the road before.
I can tear out the rot, reinforce the frame, and teach myself how to waterproof a space from scratch.
I’ve never done a bathroom before, but then again, I’ve never been here before either.
And I’m still standing.
🌱 Where I’ll Be Next
Where will I write you from next?
I’m not sure yet.
But whether it’s from the front seat of my car or the tiny corner of a half-gutted camper, I’ll be here.
Sharing the truth of the becoming.
And choosing, always, to believe that something beautiful will bloom.