Death Rattles

 I know I said in the first post that this post would be about the trip and how we got to the point where we were about to relocate to Edmonton as a step toward semi-early and affordable retirement, but I'm having a panic attack right now and I need to explore this because it's emotionally raw and interfering with my day.

The thought, "I'm going to Edmonton to die" just hit me.  Like a freight train.  

So much that I could, if it didn't shut things down and compartmentalize right now (because I'm at work), have a fantastically snotty and possible much overdue cry.  

And don't get me wrong, I'm not actually afraid of death. It's the suffering, the lingering, the slow sliding over the abyss, that scares the crap out of me but that's not it, or not really it.

I'm having to purge stuff.  Long held belongings and items that I've hung onto for decades because we don't have the room for it in the new place and it's best to get rid of it now than pay for moving it all there and then have to purge.  For one, the building we live in has way more flexible options for that and being familiar territory I know what to do for the rest, but in a very real way it feels the same as it did all those times I had to go into someone else's space, someone who passed away, and deal with all their useless junk.  I'm disposing of my own life and the similarities to other similar processes is dredging up the feelings of loss, the mourning, the grief, except it's for me and my stuff.

And there's something about this move that has a finality about it too.  If we can't afford to stay we certainly won't be able to afford to return, so yeah, when we lock the door to our unit here for the last time we're leaving forever, we're moving to Edmonton, we're moving for the last time because no where else is as big and developed and affordable.  We're moving to Edmonton to die.

And I'm my own grave digger.  

Thus the panic attack.  Yikes.