Saying Goodbye

We moved from Kansas City to Dallas just under two years ago. It was our fourth big move as a couple, our third move for my husband's job, our second move with Kendan, and Damien's first. All of our belongings have been packed and unpacked more times than I care to think about. We have left behind so many beautiful homes and a lot of renovations and hard work put into them. Two nurseries have been disassembled and set back up in a new house; never fully capturing the love we poured into them originally, but cozy all the same. And so many goodbyes have been said to the most wonderful friends. So it does not come as a surprise to us that we are moving. Again. The plans have been in motion for over a month now. My husband has already been living and working in our new destination city. A beautiful home has been purchased and made ours, ready to be filled with our stuff and our memories. Preschool is all set up for Kendan on the other side. The movers will be at our Dallas home next week. And we are, once again, exchanging farewells with amazing friends. 

In some regards, I've become an expert at this. Drawers and closets have been raided for anything that can possibly be donated. Utility companies have already received a termination date from us. Grocery shopping was almost immediately cut in half as we attempted to eat everything out of our fridge and freezer. 

I was even able to quickly remove my emotional attachment from our current home; a skill I taught myself after it almost broke me in half to leave our house in Indiana. The excitement and joy I feel when we move into a new home takes a nose dive once I realize we are leaving it. Suddenly the cracks in the walls, that one stain on the carpet, even the tiny spiders who set up residency in the corners of our bathrooms, leave me feeling unattached and ready to move on. This detachment does get relief though as I walk out of the home once it's been emptied of our belongings, our life, of us. That part is hard. But it is quickly replaced with giddiness as the movers unload all of our boxes in our new house. Giddiness and stress when I realize I now have to unpack all of those boxes (but seriously, why don't the movers stick around and help me put all of that stuff away? Jerks). 

All of my "expertise" aside, there is still one aspect of moving I have not mastered. Saying goodbye. It never gets easier. It starts with telling our closest friends that the time has come for our family to uproot again. Just as those roots had begun to spread and wrap around these {still somewhat new} friends it is time to let them go. This part is sad enough but doesn't feel real when we discuss that we will still be around for a couple months. But that time goes fast. And suddenly it is one week before the end and the casual play dates we make have a solemn undertone. The last one. The last time our kids will play while we are living nearby. Never exactly sure as to when we will see them again. Instantly, everything feels nostalgic. One last walk with the friends we took many strolls with through paths in parks. One last weekly playgroup with people that welcomed us into the neighborhood a couple years ago. Even one last hour of sitting at a friend's house while our kids destroy the place in an effort to play with every toy in sight. It's all important to me. It's all memories I will cherish forever. Then the time is up. Someone is ready for lunch or needs a nap. And we officially have to give our fiftieth and final hug. Taking one million pictures of our children embracing. Secretly thanking God that they're still too young to know to be devastated by this. And wiping the tears off my cheeks as I reaffirm to my friend that we will return for visits (and we really will; you're never rid of me!). 

Today is the last full day at our home for my boys. Tomorrow I fly with them so they may stay with my in-laws during the moving process. But today we spend our time doing everything at this home one last time. Every thing. This morning was Kendan's last time to descend the stairs into our living room lit only by the sun peeking through the closed blinds. Into my room to wake his {still sleeping} mother. The last time I make Damien his requested "waffle sausage" in this kitchen. His final time to raid this pantry for crackers and cookies and dry cereal as a snack only ten minutes after breakfast. The boys will play in their playroom at the top of the stairs and will never see it again after tomorrow. Tonight will be the last bath time in their Batman themed bathroom. The last time I will tuck them into beds in separate rooms since they'll be sharing a room in the new house. 

While all of these final rituals have me feeling sentimental, it's not the house I'll miss. It's the boys in it. The time we all spent here as a family. This feeling of conclusion is only amplified by all of the farewells we said this week. I am so thankful that, along with all of the boxes and furniture, we get to take all of our memories and lifelong friendships with us as well.