The moving van pulled away this afternoon, filled with boxes destined for storage, air and sea cargo. I confess I’m having a hard time saying goodbye to the old gal.
I imagined popping a heated tent in the backyard and all our family and friends walking the block from our synagogue to a Bat Mitzvah reception here instead of a random hotel ballroom.
I imagined my Cuties as big girls, walking down the big staircase, past six generations of photographed relatives to waiting nervous Prom dates.
I even imagined my babies bringing their babies to visit me in this house because that meant coming back home.
And then one fateful day, Cute Husband asked me a question I’d never even thought to imagine. About packing up our lives and moving to another continent and experiencing the adventure of a lifetime as a family. And it occurred to me that this house was just a place, and that all my dreams were about the people in my life and not about the place where we lived. And that these three people, they were my home and my everything, and that I would be happy being anywhere in the world with them.