Musings on a neighbour's move

A little bit of a departure today – musings on a neighbour’s move.

We live on a quiet little crescent; there are only 14 houses here. When I first moved here eight years ago, I imagined a nice cozy neighbourhood where we all knew one another. Well, that hasn’t happened. Some of the people in the crescent are good friends. In fact, one daughter from one family across the grass married a son from the family two houses down from me. Some of the families will nod and say hi when we pass, others act as if we don’t know each other.

However, there is a lovely family that lives three houses down from us – or should I say “lived.” Two years ago, the father lost his job and found one several provinces away. The mother didn’t want to leave the two kids behind who were now in university and living at home. She wanted to see them settled first and she did. They have now graduated and are pursuing their dreams. And today, the moving truck arrives to take the house’s contents to deliver them to her new home quite far away.

I watched this story unfold over the past couple of years. Usually, it’s the children who leave home, who leave the nest. In this case, it’s the parents. Her reluctance to leave was, to me, both understandable, but not at the same time. I know it wore on her precisely because it was her leaving, not the kids. When a child leaves home, they can return home to visit if their parents stay in their childhood home. But this is a parent leaving and it does seem kind of backwards. There’s no turning back.

It won’t be an easy day for her. Already it’s 9 a.m. and the movers, she told me, were to be here at 8:30 but they haven’t arrived yet. Moving is always a bit tough, it’s a big job cleaning out the house, sorting through what to keep and what to toss. I hope the move goes smoothly for her and that she is happy in her new home.

We’ll miss the family and here’s to hoping the new one is as happy in the home as the old one was.

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