This morning the house was quiet, as if normal. It caught my attention enough that I just sat down and listened to it. I've had so many things to do these last few months--students to teach, clients to see, a house to sell, boxes to pack. My only writing has been in the form of daily lists on sticky notes. It's felt good to let go of the words. But here they are again, emerging out of the morning's pause, a bit awkward, a bit unintentional.
The house is nearly empty. We arrived here all at once but have left slowly over the years, each of us going one at a time. As I looked out across the morning hill, I heard the echoes of so many stories here--young girls who grew up so well, beloved pets who died here, birthday and graduation celebrations, summer camps and trampoline talks, stories of joy and of grief, of deer and foxes and of birds on the feeders, of proms, pianos, parties, and partings...
I let the stories unfold in my memory. There are so many I cherish. As I sat, I silently thanked this house for holding so much of our lives within its walls these last fourteen years, and for being both gracious and sturdy during good times and bad. As I gather the last bits and traces of our former lives here, it is a peaceful parting. We are all done here--our work finished. Our memories come along with us while we leave small treasures behind--stones and seashells, a bird house or two, the tire swing. May many happy stories unfold in the next chapter of this house's life. May hope and happiness thrive here.
As I move on, I am eager to learn some new routines and to make new discoveries. What will work and what won't? What did I get rid of that I need and what don't I need that I kept? I have no idea what's ahead but I'm not too worried. I packed hope and courage in one of the boxes. It's here, somewhere.
See you down the road.
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