I'm going to really miss our "house" when we move.
I'm so sad about leaving, even though it's been our choice. This condo is the place R and I have shared for six years, the entire length of our relationship. It's the place where my mom washed the windows and the baseboards the weekend I moved in, even though she got tired so easily. I remember the sun was so warm, slanting through the house like honey, just like this.
She insisted on buying me a new broom, then. When my mom got it into her head that she wanted to give you something, there was no stopping her. She loved to give her daughters gifts. I always struggled with that in a material sense; I felt guilt and a sense of undeserving-ness.
But some of her gifts were invisible and weighed nothing, like the gift of home - a safe place, a comforting place. More than anything I feel lucky to have had her as my guide when I bought this condo, before she died. It's a space that's borne witness to some of the most pivotal moments of my adult life, a backdrop to grief and joy.
Part of my sadness comes from leaving the last place she knew me in. And when I leave here, that will be one more place I can never visit again, except in memory.