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On Relocation…and Moving Forward
We’re in the process of selling our home and relocating. I can already sense your envy; the thought of packing up a house filled with memories from the past six years, all while juggling three children, might not seem like a dream scenario.
Let me assure you—it’s a blend of emotions.
“The goal is to present it as the prospective buyers’ home, not yours,” a real estate agent bluntly states.
In preparation, I have the carpets cleaned and scrub the walls to remove the remnants of daily life—nail polish smudges, handprints, and wayward crayon marks—all thankfully coming off with a little effort.
I reorganize the closets, donate surplus furniture, and dispose of outdated snacks, while gathering an assortment of stray coins (my partner’s), Lego pieces (the kids’), and travel-sized lotions (mine). I also pack away baby clothes and sleep sacks that are no longer needed, only to rediscover cherished memories along the way.
One such memory is an old photograph my husband took just hours before his proposal. In the image, I’m engrossed in thought as I contemplate which movie to rent from a VHS store—a nostalgic reminder of our younger years. I pause and leave it out on my dresser for reflection.
I carefully store picture frames containing images of our boys—some displaying their adorable, chubby-cheeked baby faces, and others showcasing their playful toddler grins. I tuck away their beloved bedtime stories and compile the “daily sheets” chronicling their daycare experiences; I’ve saved every single one. I reluctantly place the water table curbside for trash collection, reminiscing about the joy it brought my sons, now damaged from the harsh winter.
I sift through my closet and part ways with the skinny jeans—an act of liberation. While I toss old law school outlines, I retain that hopeful college paper on The Social Contract, tucked neatly under the bed.
I also make the difficult decision to let go of the rocking chair that my mother used when I was a child, acknowledging that it’s time to move on since one arm is broken.
As I clean and organize, I attempt to erase our presence from this space, yet the memories linger.
This is the carpet where my sons first experienced “tummy time,” learned to crawl, and eventually walk. These hallways are where we walked to soothe our newborns, and that roof deck was our escape when my spirited firstborn needed the calming summer air. I recall sitting on the front stoop during my maternity leaves, cherishing the quiet moments.
Each mark tells a story: the scratch on the kids’ bedroom door from a tantrum, the scuff marks on the kitchen cabinets from bike rides inside during long winter days, and the staircase where I labored with my first child, measuring those initial contractions. The front door, through which we carried each of our newborns from the hospital just four blocks away, holds countless memories.
Now, the time has come for us to move forward. I know this change will be beneficial for our family—a new state, fresh schools, new jobs, and new friends. It’s healthy to embrace a fresh start.
Yet, I will deeply miss these playgrounds and familiar streets. My children know the route from home to school by heart, and we can hardly reach the corner without encountering a friend or neighbor, who have become like family.
Through this process of decluttering, I’ve gained insight; it’s not the physical structure that defines home. What we’ve built here—this family, these memories—will accompany us. It’s not about possessions or locations; it’s about who we become, and that essence travels with us wherever we go.
For now, we will strive to make this house seem like someone else’s home. But in truth, it will always hold a piece of our hearts.
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In summary, relocating is a bittersweet journey filled with memories and emotional growth. Although we will miss our familiar surroundings, the essence of our family and shared experiences will always remain with us, no matter where we go.