The Pancake House

It was 1pm before we got out of bed that day. And by “out of bed” I mean rolled off the mattress we had stripped of plastic and quickly made up nine hours earlier. With tired bodies and even more exhausted emotions, we had collapsed onto that mattress at four in the morning.

It was our fifth move in four years. And, not unlike the majority of our other moves, it was one we had done almost entirely by ourselves. This one was a bit different, though. It signaled a big transition—both literally and metaphorically. The details withstanding, it represented the end of a particularly difficult season—one that we were all too ready to leave in the rearview mirror.

It’s hard to put into words what we felt when we awoke that afternoon. But no words were needed as our slowly waking eyes finally made contact underneath the random assortment of towels and blankets we had heaped on top of ourselves for warmth—the smiles spoke for themselves.

Climbing over boxes and tripping through the mess, we made our way out the front door and hopped in the car. A quick trip down the street and we stopped at the first place we saw. Breakfast for lunch? Perfect.

We sipped hot coffee and ate meals that tasted better than anything we’d ever eaten—even though that most certainly was not the case. It didn’t matter—we had made it. Through another move. Through a really trying season. Through several months of hard lessons learned.

The other day I passed the maroon and white awning of this particular pancake house, and my heart swelled with this sweet memory. But more than the relief we felt, more than the much-needed caffeine we sipped and fluffy pancakes we ordered, what I remembered most was this: it was the place where we started to dream again. The spot where healing began for our little family of two. Where our minds found clarity and we were finally free to consider things beyond the logistical decisions that had so consumed the prior months.

I chuckled as I thought about how we haven’t been back since the day we first visited. But somehow that feels just right. The day we swung into that little pancake house was the day we started moving forward. And we haven’t stopped since.

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