We said goodbye to our home, our lovely neighbors, our sweet little city. (It’s “lemon-stir,” by the way. No one from out of state has the first idea how to pronounce it. And why would they?)

The rooms are cleared out. My kitchen counter has been reduced to a vast expanse of blue.

I’ve been putting off writing this post because I kept waiting for what I wanted to say to surface in my mind. But I think I simply don’t know what to say because this move was harder than I thought it would be. I was focused on prepping the house for sale and dealing with showings for months. Then when it sold, everything we’d be letting go suddenly hit me full-force.

This is a bittersweet move. While there are many, many positive reasons to make the change and I am certain we will be happy in our new home, there is so much we leave in our wake.

I think I am at a loss for the words that could capture how we feel.

We can take our stuff—our pots and bedclothes; our books and toys. But we can’t take the charm of this city and the places we love to go; the lovely neighborhood and wonderful people who fill it; the friends we have made. We can’t take the door jamb that has recorded our history through the growth of our children. We can’t take this house which we took from a shell and made into a real home.

All that remains on my counter is a welcome note for the new family.

I hope they are as happy here as we have been. I hope their tears are few and their laughter echoes through these rooms. I wish for my family the same in our new home—and I know in my heart we will have it. I mean, what is home after all but the people who live and love there?