And So the Packing Begins...

There’s something about moving that makes me sad.

My whole life I’ve felt like I’ve moved constantly, and to a degree I have. For the most part, I’ve actually loved that, but that act of packing up the house and boxing up the memories always makes me sad. The thought of someone else living in my space once I’m gone, arranging their furniture differently than ours was, having people over for dinner that are complete strangers…am I the only one who thinks about these things?

When I was a kid, and we’d move from place to place with the military, I always (sometimes obsessively) thought about the life our house would lead once we had moved on. Who would move in? How would they decorate? What kind of life would they have? Who would sleep in my room? What would they do on a Friday night as a family? The thought of it all always made me sad inside, even though I was almost always excited to be going somewhere new.

I still struggle with that and I think I know why.

Nothing quite like a home, no other inanimate object, can quite hold the memories of a life lived like a house can. It’s like a container of memories; good, bad, happy, sad…the life we’ve lived in whatever amount of time is contained within these walls. Packing it all away in boxes, a chapter closing, is like saying goodbye to a friend you will never see again; goodbye to a chapter you will never live again. There’s a grieving to it that I’ve never gotten used to, even in all these years of moving.

As we pack up our apartment in Logan Square, I can’t help but feel melancholic at leaving behind the walls that welcomed us to Chicago, where we started a new life in a new place, where we became parents and deepened our relationships with friends, co-workers and family. Leaving behind this space, and thinking about someone new living here instead, makes my heart hurt, despite my joy at moving somewhere new – a place we own! A place with a yard, and two stories and a garage – things we haven’t had in the last year and a half of living in the city. I am so excited for this new house and what it means for us and our boys. I feel so blessed and cared for by my God, who never fails to provide for our needs. I am grateful and happy and full.

But these boxes, these empty shelves and windowsills, these last pages in this chapter – for them, I might weep.

I am, afterall, saying goodbye to a friend; a part of me, a part of my story, our family’s story.

And all I can think is, thank you, God, for such a beautiful beginning to our lives in Chicago. May the next chapter glorify you even more.