Thursday, September 28, 2017

Moving Day

I’m moving. I’m not going far - just three miles away - nevertheless the process of packing up the house has not been fun for me. I did manage to unearth clothes I thought my daughters had taken, shoes lonely for their mates, and my high school yearbooks.
While I’m happy about the new house, leaving the one I’ve lived in for over twenty-two years is bittersweet. It’s the place I fled to right after I finished about a year’s worth of chemotherapy (when my then-present house had become more of a hospital than a home), and it’s next door to my sister Kay, the only one of my siblings who is a bone marrow match. I’m grateful to have never needed her in that capacity; however, living next to her, her husband Tony, and their four children has been a life-saver in many other ways.
Kay’s a great cook and my children often ran to her home when they didn’t like what I had prepared. She was also their mediator. If they were grounded or had their phones taken away, Kay would come to my house, sit at my table and say something to the effect of, “Now, Ronny, they didn’t mean to do it. I think they’ve been punished long enough.”
Now that the search for a single-story house has ended, I’m saying goodbye to the one that echoes with conversations and laughter from years of family gatherings, Bible studies, slumber parties, the Christmas when it snowed, and the many holidays when it didn’t.
Another family will get to enjoy the roses from the bush that Aunt Judy gave to me when my first grandchild was born, the trees that shaded my children’s play, and volleyball games in the pool.
And Kay can still walk to my house for dessert. I’ll only be three miles away.
Ronny may be reached at