With all the time spent planning and fretting over the construction of our new house, one thing got lost in the shuffle...the day would come when we would have to move out of the trailer. At first glance, it seems rather matter-of-fact, a part of the process of moving. It is something we saw coming from a mile away.
We often talk about the downside of living at the trailer. There have been the crazy neighbors who drink and cause a raucus at all hours of the night and the crazy people that wander through the neighborhood. There is that darn train that blares its horn at all hours of the night, often waking us up several times. There are the people that walk by to get their mail and throw cigarette butts, empty cigarette packs and other various items into our lawn. There is the landlord, who, for whatever reason, had it out for us (in particular, for Jay) since Day 1.
Of course, to move into a new house, we knew we had to move out of the trailer. A part of the process that is assumed. An event we thought we would welcome with great anticipation.
Over the past twelve years, I have moved several times. The first time it really made me sad to move out of a place was after my sophomore year in college at the University of Mary. April 30th is my friend Bridget's birthday. I lived with Bridget and our friend Tara at an apartment at UMary that year. May 1 happened to be the date of my last final that year. Naturally, since Bridget's birthday was the night before, I provided transportation in order for her to celebrate. I did not sleep that night. I recall bringing Bridget and Tara home in the early morning hours and then staying up the rest of the night/morning studying for my last final. It was in Psychology, with the notorious Dr. Balough. I somehow pulled off a B- on that final, the toughest test thusfar in my young life.
The exam was in the morning. I came back to the apartment after the exam and Bridget and Tara had already moved out. There was our other roommate, Stacy, and a couple other women's softball players staying there through the month of May. I cleared out my room, the room I had shared with Bridget, and loaded up my car. I remember walking back to the room that we shared, and feeling that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was leaving a place I had grown to love. I could spend hours telling stories from that year. It all comes rushing back when you look at that empty room. But then, you know you have to leave.
Over the course of the next decade, I left several other places. Every time I got that same feeling. The thought of never stepping foot inside a place where I lived, learned and loved just killed me, time and time again.
Then again, I have been known to be an emotional person.
The worst was at the end of the summer of 2000, moving out of our place on Riverside Road in Bismarck. During the school year I had lived there with Bridget and Angie. During the summer, I lived there with Heather. All three of them moved away. And not to places like Fargo or Minot. Bridget moved to Alaska. This just crushed me. She was the person I had confided to about
everything. We even shared our personal journal entries with each other. And
to Alaska!! Angie moved to Oregon. Not exactly the easiest place to visit either. Then, at the end of summer, Heather moved to Omaha. I can remember being the last to leave that apartment. Empty. All of the sudden you could hear every footstep and sound. If you talked, the sound echoed. Within a year, we had packed that place with a million valuable memories. Then, just like that, three of my closest friends, who had all lived there, were gone. On with life....
Today we finished moving everything out of the trailer and cleaning it. You never know what is going to catch you off guard. To us, it was the back door, the one the beagles learned to scratch every time they wanted out. Out of everything, it came down to that door.
As it turns out, the beagles got back in there to scratch and go through that door a few more times tonight. We had a few guests over for one last time. We sat on the floor and visited for an hour or so. Our guests left and it was just us and the dogs. It seemed so strange, to know we will never set foot in there again. That same feeling, at the pit of our stomachs.
Jay and I have taken very different routes in our life to get to each other. I moved around between different homes, cities, schools and jobs. Jay has been steady, and just recently marked his 13th year at the trailer and 11th at his job. Whatever you want to call it...fate, destiny, divine plan...brought our two paths together somehow. That trailer was meant to be our first home.
Jay has said that he does not associate me with the trailer. The fact is, he and I have been dating for almost 7 of those 13 years he was there. And, though most people do not know, I was at the trailer at least once before he and I were dating, when I was 20 years old. What I recall about that is the fooseball table in the kitchen, and Jay taking us there from their softball games in his Somerset.
I was there before. Somehow, in my mind, that means something. To me, it has significance.
From that moment on, Jay was someone I could say I knew. Not necessarily a good friend, but someone who I always talked to whenever I saw him. I coached for several years at the 16th Street Diamonds (which are right by the trailer) and always got a wave from Jay when he would drive by on his way home for lunch. I just have to shake my head now. Little did I know where life would take me. Little did I know that someday I would marry him and live at that trailer with him. Sometimes I think it is best if we just don't know what life has in store for us.
I know Jay has a million more memories from that trailer than I do. And those memories will live on forever. But to take your last step out of a place where you have spent a good portion of your life is difficult, to say the least.
We did manage to take a couple pieces of the trailer with us. Jay cut a piece of the kitchen linoleum out along with some of the wood paneling trim. (Thanks to Lyndsey and Nick for those ideas). The beagles, of course, left several "pieces" of themselves (in other words, dog hairs) behind. We left when it was quiet, dark and peaceful.
I guess it just goes to show that a home does not have to be large, fancy, expensive or filled with all the latest updates and designer trends to be special. We are grateful for the time we were able to spend there. It was our cozy little shelter, our first home as a married couple.
We are transitioning at my parents' house while we wait for our new house to be completed. This is the place which I identify with most as my true "home." I know all the sounds and idiosyncracies of this house. I could probably find my way through it blindfolded of need be. I hope Jay will feel at home here, too.
After our 4-week transition period, we will be moving into our new house, a place which we will make our home for many years to come, God willing.
But for tonight, on the same date that Jay's parents celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary and the same date that the last game is played at Yankee Stadium, we reflect on leaving our first home, and what that means to each of us.
You never really leave a place you love. Part of it you take with you, leaving part of yourself behind....
