From the second we walked into the model house, which admittedly was decked out with every upgrade imagineable, my sister and I fell in love - more than with the house itself, but the idea that my parents shoudl take this moment to move there. I mean - it made a ton of sense. They could likely sell our current house for more, so net out positive in the deal, and mvoe into a 55+ community, with people their own age (our current neighborhood is basically 97% new people compared to when we moved in, granted not too surprising since that was 1993...). And they could do it literally down the street - a 20 minute walk, so not having to change any part of their actual life. It all seemed perfect. It all was really rushed, too.
Within 10 days, they had put a deposit down - though there were multiple days in between where opinions from all of us waffled from they should go, to they should stay, and everywhere in between. But by end of January, when my parents were taking their annual snowbirds trip to India, they had put a further deposit, and it was basically all in motion.
The house will only be ready in Jan/Feb 2026, but more pressing we have to move out of our current house, and therein lies the problem. This is the only house I've ever known (I mean, other than my various apartments and dorms and what-not). It is my refuge. It is the place I grew up in. There's grainy family movie footage of baby and toddler me in our older house. I love the fact that footage exists, but I don't remember it. I remember this house. And now, with us needing to move out in two weeks, it really is starting to feel all too soon.
My parents were always surprised how quickly my Sister and I took to the idea of them moving. She has some memories, in theory, of the earlier house, but even to her this is the only house she;s really ever known. We made our peace in a way in January when we pushed heavily for the move - and I do think for all good reasons, from my parents not being at an age where they can expend the energy to take care of their beautiful, large yard, to the house being 32 years old and at high risk of some major repair event in the offing. But also because it seemed still a bit distant when it would happen. It is distant no more.
I don't know when I started counting down the weekends left in our house, in my house. We're down to two as I write this (and probably one when I post it). It probably was back in April when I took a weekend to travel with friends to visit a friend in San Diego. It definitely started by the time I had to visit India for work, and decided to come home Friday Night / Saturday Morning instead of spend the second weekend in India - I didn't want to miss one last weekend in my home.
There's so many incredible memories in that house, and that will largely be the focus of subsequent posts. Many of those memories were in our backyard, which will also be a post. I'm sure there will be an A to Z when it is all said and done. But for now, I just want to state how lucky I feel - lucky that this is the first time I need to face this.
Many of my childhood friends moved away from New Jersey. In fact, it was almost comical how easily 4-5 people that I would've called my best friend at various points from ages 5-12 moved away. My high school friends and I are all still tight - and while some of them have moved, many of their parents have as well. Out of course nine, only three of us still ahve our parents living in the house they were in during our high school. In a way, my family's move a 5-min drive away doesn't really change that, but it still matters - a new address to share.
But through it all, I haven't had to move. I haven't had to help pack, to make the decision of throw vs. continue to hold onto - a decision making process I waver between rationality and madness with the frequency of a metronome. I haven't had to deal with someone else living in my house. Even when I moved into my own apartment, I mostly built that up from scratch so it was the joy of moving in without the pains of moving out. I do realize how priveliged this whole thing sounds for someone who is 34, but it is nevertheless all too real.
Privilege takes many forms - from me living at home for years when I was mostly traveling during the week, to our house, and more pointedly the yard, being our refuge during the darkest days of Covid, to the nice cool breezy feeling when opening the door to home coming back late at night, be it from my parents' friends' place when my Sister adn I were kids, to from late night flights back from weeks on the road, to that moment when we drive up 66 Kinglet after spending a few weeks on vacation. This was our home, my home, and soon it will be a memory. Thankfully though, one that is just a three minute drive away.
