On Wednesday, the moving truck drove away with all of our things, and we checked into the motel where we’d be sleeping for our last two nights in California. But then we headed back to the neighborhood for one last hurrah — a laid-back dinner at our wonderful neighbors’ house. They’d ordered from a legendary Berkeley pizza place we were quite fond of, and the conversation and atmosphere was easy and relaxed. As the night crept on, we grew tired and determined to head out. We said our goodbyes and the ever-energetic Callum jumped down the neighbors’ steps, walked over to our driveway, toddled up our front walkway, and stood patiently in front of our hunter-green front door, waiting to be let inside.
“No, honey,” I said, “we don’t live here anymore.”
It may go without saying, but many tears ensued, as it really sunk in that we’d never again sleep under that roof that sheltered a thousand memories. Memories of bringing Callum home from the hospital, full of worry and anticipation (and quite rightly so) of months of wakeful nights. Memories of his first steps, first tumbles, and first words.
Tomorrow we fly to our new home in NYC, where we’ll make many more family memories. Snow is forecast for our first night there, so maybe we’ll kick off the memory-making with a snowman.
