"I don't want to go!"

Kids throw tantrums when they don’t get what they want. My kids are no exception to the rule, although they’re definitely not the worst tantrum throwers I know. Now that Josie is older and more able to control her emotions, her form of a tantrum is mild. On occasion she will hide her face in her hands and run to pout quietly under a table or in a corner of the room when she’s told it’s not her turn yet. Jamie, on the other hand, is prime tantrum age and his foot stomping, tear streaming fits are most commonly brought on by the denial of an apple juice refill or upon learning that it’s time for bed. Johnny has only just learned to pitch a fit. I saw his first one sometime last week when he found one of Jamie’s discarded Tootsie Pops and was quietly savoring several sweet, sugary sucks until I caught him and took the candy away. He immediately burst into tears and wailed in heartbroken anguish.

I have spent so much time stopping tantrums over the past few years that I feel I’ve earned the right to throw one now.

We are moving to Virginia. I don’t want to go! (Imagine me jumping up and down, waving my arms in the air, stomping my feet on the floor, and shrieking hysterically.) I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go! I don’t want to be lost and lonely. I don’t want to start over. I won’t know how to get to the places I need to go- like the most convenient ATM or the grocery store with the lowest milk prices. I won’t know where the best parks are and I won’t know how to avoid afternoon traffic. I’m also going to be poorer than ever, no thanks to the financial strain of paying rent on top of a mortgage. I will be alone, in a strange place, with no money. No fun at all.

I don’t want to go, but even more, I don’t want to leave. It hurts to know that life in New York will go on without us. Kristen, Colleen, and Chrissy and all their kids will continue to meet for playgroups, but my kids and I won’t be there enjoying the mayhem. Pastor Alan will continue to preach at First Baptist Church, but I won’t be in the pew scratching notes on the corner of my bulletin. Emmeline will continue to babysit, but my kids won’t be here asking her to build another living room fort out of kitchen chairs. Kelly will continue to visit her clients, but Jamie won’t be here benefitting from her gentle insistence on his pronunciation of “I want” and “my turn”. Nikki will continue to sell Gymboree clothes, but I won’t be in the store chatting with her about the upcoming sales.

The life that took me five long years to build will be gone in an instant. So many friendships, so many memories. Sure, they will probably miss us at first. But before long the empty spots on their calendars will fill up with new friends’ names and then eventually they will be referring to us as that little family of Js they once knew. “Oh, ya! Cute kids,” they’ll remember. “And that Jennifer….wasn’t that her name?.....Sure loved to speak her mind. Ha ha!” Relationships that I treasure immeasurably will be reduced to mere shadows.

I am so tired of people trying to encourage me to be optimistic and insisting that I be enthusiastic about moving to Virginia. Because as far as I can see, I have close to nothing to gain and nearly everything to lose. So to all those people I want to say: No! I don’t want to go! I want to mourn the loss of the people and places that I hold dear. I need some time to grieve. I think I’m entitled to some sorrow, even if it takes the form of childish tantrum.