Leaving Washington this time was hard. Really hard. Like oh-my-God-what-the-hell-am –I-doing hard. I’ve been gearing up for the last few weeks. Saying goodbye to friends has left me exhausted. The logistics up until the last few days were a nightmare. Doug’s work schedule meant no down time and (barely more than) no help. But the day finally came. Getting out of town didn’t go as I had planned. We were five hours behind “schedule” when I finally locked up the house for the last time.
And that’s when it hit me.
Locking up the house for the last time hit me in a way that I wasn’t expecting. It hit me harder than anything. It took me longer than was reasonable to close the door for that final time. Managing not to put my head down on the steering wheel and bawl for a good long time was one of my better feats of self-control. Had
we gotten married in the back yard or had a home birth there – both of
which we thought about – I don’t know how I could’ve pulled myself away. That
house has a lot of history for us. That’s the first place we ever lived
together. We had our first fight and came home from our wedding night.
We created and lost life, labored and brought home babies. My dog died
there for crying out loud! We truly became a family in that house. I would have happily bought it and lived in it for the rest of my life.
I stood there with my hand on the door knob and I cried. I let the memories and the tears come. I looked at my husband, standing in the yard waiting for me and he smiled. So, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and closed the door for the last time.
May the next chapter be as wonderful!