I’m beginning to run out of things to pack. For the last two weeks I’ve been steadily making progress, going through cabinets and drawers, finding things buried under the bed or deep in the closet. Given the tight space we live in, you might be shocked to see how many boxes of possessions I’ve managed to seal tight with packaging tape.
Though we’re not moving until June 16-17, we’re going to be in California from the 8th-14th, so we really only have….oh my goodness…three days left in this home.
This week has been filled with many “lasts” and I’ve taken to saying, “See you later” rather than tearful goodbyes. There are two reasons for this. One, I’m not sure my emotional strength is capable of tear after tear. And two, I truly believe I’ll see many of these friends again, in one life or the next.
Our time here seems too short, and I wonder and wish for more time with so many of our friends. It seems that many relationships have only just solidified and who knows where we would have ended up. I really wish you could have joined us while we made our home in this village of Albion, New York. I wished I could have pushed your stroller up and down Main Street, waving to friends driving by. I wish we could have gone sled riding at Bullard Park or taken walks to Tastee Freeze. I wish countless teens like Catherine or Olivia, Matilda or Riley, Hailey or Savannah could have had an opportunity to babysit you. I wish those who’ve been through the infertility trenches with me, truest friends like Sheryl and Tara and Anna and Andrea, could be right next to me during the 40 weeks of pregnancy, walking me through the fears, dreaming of the future, dealing graciously with my emotional mess. I wish you could have known the love so many of these people have for you. I wish you could have played with Amelia and Jillian and Adelynn, and been mothered by Madison, Ashlyn, Sarah, and Catherine. I wish you could have been snuggled by Chelcie and Peggy, Tom and Pat, Sherrie, Jessy, Darryl, and Diane. I could list name after name, friend after friend, child after child who would have adored you.
It’s hard to not feel regret and disappointment. Yet these past three years have served a beautiful purpose and friendships forged will stand the test of time. Maybe you will get to meet some of these friends. I’ll tell you stories of our years in Albion. We could come for a visit and show you off to the whole village, and perhaps some of them will stop by our Michigan home for a time. We’ll sit in the living room, reminiscing about the years we had together, and how they went too quickly, yet how it felt like forever. We’ll laugh at old inside jokes that won’t make any sense to you. You’ll act all shy and hide behind your Daddy’s leg when our friends and their kids file into our home, but soon enough you’ll love them as much as we do and your true crazy colors will show. You’ll have a ball playing in the yard with “cousins, aunts and uncles” making memories of your own. This is my hope for you, Child.
And this is not goodbye.
It simply can’t be.