Anatomy of a Move, Medford, Massachusetts, USA

How do you leave your home of 15 years - the first home you chose together after marriage - the only home your only son has ever known - the home where his growth was marked in pencil on a door frame - where his grandfather planted a tiny Japanese maple tree seedling that grew to a graceful arch beside the driveway - where the flowering pear tree sapling planted by the curb now stands as tall as the house - the home that glowed warmly on a dark and cold winter evening coming home from work - the home where the curtains billowed inward with a spring or summer breeze - the home where the window screens vibrated deeply during a nor'easter - the home where you knew who and where someone was by the sound of a creaking board or stair step on the 100-year old floor -  the home where we lived and loved and laughed?

We are downsizing - at least half of our stuff must go - how do you decide what to put in the box, what do you give away or recycle? How do you pick which memory to package and which to discard?

But the calendar races by, the movers only 4 days away.

Growth chart soon to be painted over or scrubbed away.

Grandpa's maple tree thriving, perhaps to keep growing or, perhaps to be cut down by future homeowners.

And so you must pick, and pack, and seal it up, and repeat until it's done.

And when it's done, there's your lifetime of stuff reduced to an essential core.

 

A few decorations, a camping stove, career awards, boxes of photographs - and the first and only tricycle of the little boy who is now a grown man at University.  I can close my eyes and see his little legs pumping furiously on the pedals..........

A basement workbench, tools already packed - no more broken things that need fixing.

Closets empty except for hangars with nothing to hang.

It was a home where little boys and dinosaurs once fought raging battles as toy people in nearby Lego worlds stood watch.  It was a home where he grew into manhood.

It is not easy to leave so much behind.