Thursday, September 6, 2012

Goodbye to you

Last night we took my friend's advice and toasted my old apartment. It was pouring rain and my (admittedly ill-thought-out but readily available post-move-in) moccasins were soaked down to their tassels. Shaking ourselves off in the alley beside the building we noted that my impossibly-heavy filing cabinet and grandfather-crafted chest of drawers had been taken from outside the old place, which was comforting. I love the idea of purging my stuff but I'm always a little reticent to do it. It makes it easier if I can tell myself that someone else will get some use out of what I threw away. The same can't be said for the futon. We said a silent prayer for all the abandoned mattresses and couches that were now being soaked by the near-constant downpour.

Everything seemed a bit solemn, even things that had no real significance - the Boy propping his backpack up in the foyer like he'd done a hundred times before, removing our shoes so as not to get the ancient floor (even more) dirty- but I already felt ready to say goodbye. Inside The Boy's backpack were a drink apiece, to be sipped as we settled down on the floor of the apartment to give it a proper send-off. And I don't care if it was silly or sentimental; it was just what I needed.

I didn't really cry, just sighed a bit and maybe, MAYBE I misted up a little when I thought of never coming back. I called it a wake but The Boy disagreed.

"Either way, that's not true. Someone's moving in here, they'll make memories, the place lives on. And you're moving on, too. You're not dead, your stories will continue. It's not a goodbye. It's just the next step."

Which, okay. Yeah. But your first anything will always have a place in your heart, I think. And that's okay. I wouldn't want it any other way. But there are so many memories waiting to be made in our house, so many things I can do with the place we bought. And I feel this now when I say those words, instead of just feeling I *should* say them, that I should be only cheery, only hopeful. I realize now that being sad about my past doesn't mean I'm not excited for my future. It's just another reminder that time continues forward and there's nothing you can do about it. Which is kind of heavy, y'know. So it deserves an adult beverage and a few silly cell phone photos to commemorate it.
I padded around the creaky floorboards for another 15 minutes, took the aforementioned silly cell phone photos, left a secret note for the future inhabitants (shhh!) and then locked the door for the very last time. As we walked past the large stone alcoves out front, we saw our last "good luck pug" (there were 5 in the building when I lived there). The perfect reminder that good things are on their way. Obvious harbingers can't be ignored - especially when they have such perfect wrinkles.


  1. I loved this. We don't even have to move yet-- have nowhere to move TO-- but we're already worrying about how hard it will be to leave the "Happy Home." We'll come back and read this when it's time.

    1. Oh babe. I hope it brings you some comfort when you do! Ha!- actually, it's funny you say this because just the other day we were talking and I was saying how I'm already getting stressed out about one day having to leave the place we're in now, now that it feels like home. The more things change, the more they stay the same :)