So right around the time that Amanda died, I received a call from the office manager at my counseling office. We had a new tenant moving in so I needed to move my furniture out.

I’ve been renting space from some therapists for several years now. Initially, I signed up to rent one (of the four) offices full time. I paid a monthly rent and had the freedom to sublet the office if I wanted to. Then I had the stroke. I was still responsible for paying the monthly rent but the women in the office were wonderful to me. When I couldn’t make the payments, they didn’t say anything. And the office manager even tried to help me find people to sublet the office to.

When my contract was up, I didn’t renew as a full time renter for obvious reasons. But we kept my furniture in the office for a few reasons.

1. It’s nice furniture.
2. It saved them the cost of having to buy replacement furniture.
3. I didn’t really have anywhere to put it. By this time, my ex-husband had already kicked me out of the house so I was staying with my mother in her already overcrowded house.

I did stay on as a part time renter and saw a few clients here and there, nothing steady. And the women I rented from still didn’t push about the back rent I owed.

Then I got a full-time job. And I told them that because I had a job now, I could begin paying them back for the rent I owed them. They said that was great but not to put myself out, that I could pay a little at a time. Well, I paid them back gradually but regularly. There was never any doubt in my mind that I would pay them. So when I paid the last bit on the balance and they were so grateful to me for paying them back and being an honest person, I was a little surprised by their gratitude. I forget sometimes that people don’t follow through with their obligations.

But anyway…the office manager called me and told me that they had found someone who wanted to rent the office full time. I let her know that was great news. She then told me that this person had her own furniture that she wanted to bring in so I needed to move mine out. I told her it was no problem, which was only a little lie. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it but I could bring it home until we figured it all out. And that’s basically what I did.

So now I rent some time in someone else’s office every other week. It’s not my style at all and I definitely feel like a visitor when I’m there.

The point of this rant is this:

When I found out Amanda had died, I felt a weight had lifted and that I had the freedom to go back to counseling when I was ready. I was beginning to consider going back to what I believe I was meant to do. Then I lost my office. Is this a sign that I’m not supposed to go back?