Tomorrow morning, bright and early, the moving truck will arrive. It will trundle up to my driveway after having made its way along the torn up streets in my neighbourhood, ready to whisk me away to the next chapter of my life.
But today, I’m wandering through empty rooms; my life is packed up in box upon box stacked in my kitchen, my living room, my bedroom, my study. As I stand in the entry to my daughter’s room, I can almost smell the scent of nail polish and hear the giggles of long-haired beauties as they choose a new colour. At the next room down the hall, there’s a ghost of a shadow of her eldest brother bent over his computer playing with other young adults half way around the world. Across the way, I remember the few weeks my middle child spent without a door – punishment for slamming it once too often. The look on his face as I actually took it off its hinges will stay with me forever! In the kitchen,
I’m sure I still hear the sounds of our “kitchen dance parties”. In the back garden, where I’ve just divided up some of my favourite perennials, my girlfriends have helped me drink many bottles of wine over the past 15 years. One of the last things to come down was the “growth chart” in the basement. I’m glad I had the foresight to do this on a length of MDF, rather than straight onto the wall.
The memories are everywhere.
When we moved to this neighbourhood at the beginning of summer 15 years ago, we figured we’d be the new family. And we were – for about 3 days. Over the course of the next few weeks, no fewer than five families moved in, most from far enough away that the children weren’t already registered in camps or other activities. So the “gang” made fast friends, running from one house to another all summer long whenever they weren’t playing street hockey or playing with skipping ropes. The adults made fast friends too. Our street parties over the next years were legendary, and our New Year’s Eve parties even more so.
Eventually, the kids grew up enough that they didn’t require full-time supervision when playing in driveways and on sidewalks, and the adults slowly retreated back into their houses a little more. We didn’t see as much of each other in the last few years as we did in the early ones, but we still knew our neighbours were there for us. The local bond was real.
This afternoon, I took a break from it all. I sat savouring my garden one last time, book in hand and as I looked up, my gaze fell upon an almost grown baby robin and it’s mum. Despite her baby being almost full-sized, and despite giving it more and more space, she still kept a watchful eye from a distance, and provided some care. An apt metaphor, perhaps.
Back in the house, I notice the slight “ding” in the wall, left from rambunctious boys. I take the last picture off the wall and carefully wrap it up – knowing that the smiling faces of my three almost-grown-ups will be the first thing that goes up in the new house.
For the past month, I’ve been sorting through belongings, purging, selling, donating, tossing. Much of my extra furniture has found new homes – students furnishing their temporary communal houses, young couples filling first homes and a few crafters, looking for something to turn into “projects”. Special children’s toys have new life with younger families who will appreciate their value, and a piano has gone “back home” to the family who gave it to us. I think I’ve gotten rid of enough; I guess I’ll know soon.
That exciting new chapter – maybe a whole book – awaits me tomorrow. But for tonight, I think I’ll just sit with one last glass of wine and listen to the sounds of memories.
