I've spent roughly the past three weeks cheerfully saying goodbyes to everything I hated about the old place. When the breaker would blow because the fan was on in the bedroom and I dared to try to blow my hair dry in the bathroom I'd do a little dance of joy and say, "Never again!" When the neighbors who tried to kill me moved their car specifically to block the driveway when I was trying to get out..."One more week!" When I burnt something on the left rear burner of the electric stove because I forgot, for the millionth time, that the temperature control is broken on it, "I'll be so glad to have my gas stove!" It seemed there were dozens of things to celebrate with the move and I was very caught up in it.
All day yesterday we moved the last few straggling things into the kitchen, then out the back door into our waiting vehicles. Slowly emptying the upstairs, basement, and family room. At about 8:00 my husband and son left me in the kitchen with nothing but the vacuum, a bottle of floor cleaner, and a bottle of vinegar to clean off the counter tops. Alone in the house I started thinking about this blog post and I realized that I needed that little bit of time to myself. I had been so busy thinking about all I was moving away from, that I forgot about what I was moving to.
I now live in a home where the hallway doesn't hold the memory of my son's first steps.
He didn't drink his first bottle, or eat his first solid food, or have his first birthday here either.
For just a minute, I wished that I could stay...