At 10 AM this morning we finally closed on our new home. If you count from the time we signed the original reservation until this morning, it took thirty-nine months. This is longer than the gestation period for elephants (22 months) and even longer than that of the Alpine salamander (36 months). But at last, the new home was delivered (pun intended), and we are the proud “parents.”
This morning I felt somewhat anti-climactic about it. I had lived with this project for so long that the idea it had almost come to fruition was hard to grasp. Or enjoy. But — to advance the pregnancy comparison — once the labor of it was over I began to feel really excited. By afternoon, it sank in and Earl loaded his car with the first items to make the trek from St. Joseph to Benton Harbor. It’s not a long trek, but then when you’re moving it doesn’t matter if it’s across town or across the nation. The same amount of effort is involved.
We’ll continue to live in the old house another week. But tonight is the last Monday we’ll ever sleep there. Tomorrow is the last Tuesday; Wednesday is the last Wednesday, etc. And while we’re counting down “lasts,” I’m also retreating emotionally.
When I first moved into our River House I was sure I would never leave. No home that I’ve had – and I’ve had many – was so special. It wasn’t just the surroundings but also the events that occurred here. And that our various family members seemed to be in good places in their own lives. This isn’t to say that there weren’t struggles, but none of them were of the sort that broke the spirit. Then there were Earl’s flowers. And the sunsets. And the river. It felt like halcyon days for the almost ten years we’ve lived here.
Maybe that’s why Earl and I didn’t notice we were getting older and didn’t want the responsibility of a large house and an even larger lot filled with trees and flowers and work. Maybe that’s why, in 2006, we casually put a reservation in on a new condo project and told the builder we were in no hurry. And, now, maybe that’s why I’m ready to leave River House and move to a smaller home.
Halcyon days don’t always last forever, but when they’re gone there are still sweet memories. We’re taking all of them with us.
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