Maybe it's because I'm a writer, but I tend to view phases and stages in life as chapters of a book, or railroad tracks. Sometimes we journey through life and transition slowly into our next phase of life the way a railroad track would transition slowly from one country to the next, not realizing the change even happened until we look up and compare terrains. Other times we transition abruptly, and with finality, the way a chapter ends with half the page blank, forcing us to turn over the paper and presenting us with the number or title of what is to come next. Often times with such chapter endings there is some feeling of longing for a more rounded closure, or a wish to continue in the feelings and lingering emotions of that chapter before stepping into what is sometimes an entirely new setting. That is the way I feel with this move...
We move out of our home for the past 3 years tomorrow. We will be living at my parent's home saving money for our (hopeful) move to San Diego in October. I have loved this house. It was the first home we lived in for longer than a year since being married, it was the house my daughter was born in and the only home she has known. We have found family in our neighbors next door, and I cannot think of a day without seeing them next door without tears welling up in my eyes. My children have grown to listen for their voices come through our open front window which always meant that our neighbors were stopping by for a chat. I know also that we will still and probably always be involved in each other's lives because of the relationship we have made, but it's still so sobering to know that the chapter where they are our neighbors is over.
I will miss our awful backyard grass that dies every summer no matter how many times I water it. I will miss the Ghost that ties my blind cord into knots during the night just to irritate me, who whistles from the back of the house, and who moves things around until the second I curse him aloud. I will miss the hardwood floors that cause bits of food to stick to the bottoms of my feet. I will miss the back door that is incredibly heavy and hard to open because the roll track is broken. I will miss our little box of a shower. I will miss how bright this house is with morning and evening sun. I will miss watching the old asian man across the street pain his brick driveway, then tear it up, rotate it and paint it again. I will miss the elderly couple on our other side screaming profanities at each other...oh no wait..I won't miss that.
This house really has felt like home. I know and knew from the beginning that it was never "ours" as a rental..but it sure felt like ours. I will miss my kids echoing my sing songy voice say "We're home!" as we bounce into the driveway after a drive. I'm hoping when we visit Brian and Linda our neighbors sometime soon that the kids won't ask to go "home." I don't think I could handle hearing they miss it too.
We love you house.. We will miss this Chapter in the Book of our Family.
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