Moving On

One of my least favorite things in life is moving. I have always disliked it. I usually don't mind the change to a new location and think it can be exciting but packing and unpacking things is the worst. This time around I was relieved when I found out that a moving company was going to pack and move us. The day came and the packers entered our small apartment and packed up all of our belongings in a matter of hours. The result was shocking. I felt empty as I walked around our vacant apartment. In the past I have packed up all of our things gradually; I now realize that this process is helpful in slowly saying goodbye to another phase in life coming to an end.

As I gave the apartment a look over memories from the last couple of years came peeking through as I noticed the stain a squashed blueberry left on the carpet from a baby shower, I found a long lost binky behind where the armoire once stood and was surprised not to see Corey's shoes spilling out of his tiny closet for once. If the walls of our apartment could talk they may tell you about our baby's exploring hands reaching through crib slats to brush their orange peel texture or warned me about the blue crayon incident that was to happen a year later. They could tell about study groups around the sofa, long discussions on cold winter nights about where we would go next- fueled by peppermint tea with honey and could have probably reprimanded me for declaring the apartment "disgusting" on arrival and correctly predicting that when the time came I would be terribly sad to go. In Howard's End, E.M. Forster shares his sentiments about homes in saying, "....a house in which one has once lived becomes in a sort of way sacred." For good or bad our memories are tied to them and this was a good home. Goodbye Boston.