yonex drive

Leaving is hard because it feels like we are leaving her.

I’ve been thinking a lot about moving. There’s a lot of energy that goes into moving.

Physically packing boxes, moving boxes and furniture. Loading and unloading trucks and cars.

That all feels draining, but then add on that the some of the mental parts of changing where we live.

The bills and utilities. The neighborhood and ward. And the rest of the non-physical things.

Then, add in the emotional piece with worrying about what we’re leaving behind.

Leaving the current house we’re in makes me feel like we’re leaving Esther.

This is where she called home.

This is where she had her own room.

This is where we ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together every day.

This is where she ran to greet me at the garage door after my workouts.

This is where she finished her longest stretch, 151 days, without a seizure.

This is where we made some of our favorite, precious memories as a little family. This is where we did puzzles, sang songs, danced, played hide and seek, and read bedtime stories.

This is where we went on walks, explored new parks and played outside in the beautiful spring weather.

And this is where she had her last seizure.

In many ways it feels like she is here and leaving here would mean leaving her.

The weight of moving doesn't compare to the weight of leaving.

But she’ll be with us. Regardless of where we are or where we will be.

Our new place is closer to the cemetery and over there we will get to create more memories, connections and adventures.

The new spot gets me excited, yet this place will always be Esther's home.