As I write this, Dann is bringing my bike upstairs from the garage. The movers come in a couple of hours and although we’ve had since February to prepare, I still feel a little bit caught off guard, like today came faster than I thought it would.
I’m sad. I’m excited. I’m stressed (5.5 days of school after Memorial day? Whose idea was that?). I’m hopeful. I’m anxious. But I’m also so so thankful for the last three years of living in this apartment with my husband in this city that I love so dearly. It has been rich with life and growth and goodness, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit afraid that our best years are already behind us.
The good news, as Dann reminded me the other night, is that we're not dying and Seattle is not prison. (I may have been melting down, slightly.) And also that life is and has been and always will be what we make of it, that it can be just as good - if not better - in Seattle as it’s been here in Denver. He was right, of course, and being reminded of that truth helped me calm down a bit. We were listening to the Walter Mitty soundtrack a lot when we made the decision to move, and I keep going back to this song as a reminder that everyone here will be okay without us, and that we'll be okay too. Not that it won't hurt like hell, but that we'll be okay.
The last few weeks have been busy, but full of moments that I know I will cherish once we're gone: one last spaghetti dinner at our place, running the Colfax Marathon relay, spending a weekend in Snowmass with my oldest friends, pulling off another bake sale for books, and as many minutes as I can get with precious baby V. (She's a reader, you guys. Like, she's four months old and she TURNS THE PAGES. What?!)
As of today, I've got two more weeks in Denver and a handful of items remaining on my farewell tour. You can bet I'm going to squeeze every last drop of goodness out of it.