5. The First Goodbyes

The house is quiet except for the sound of wood crackling in the wood stove and the dog’s quiet snores. So, so quiet. After yesterday’s flurry and bustle—packing and unpacking and rearranging and stuffing last-minute items into a car top soft-sided carrier that had to be purchased at the very last minute (thank goodness for Amazon’s Sunday delivery through the USPS!)—today there is a vacuum, an empty space left where yesterday there was my husband’s presence and a large amount of stuff. Whittling down what he will need for an unfurnished two-bedroom apartment to what he could fit in his Honda Pilot wasn’t easy, but he will at least have a table and chairs, a few kitchen goods, linens, and a mattress to sleep on. We will try to avoid his buying too much there so we don’t duplicate what we already have. He left at 4:37 this morning, and returned at 4:45, having forgotten his passports. I had to laugh, and I got to sneak in a second hug and kiss for the road. But now he is well and truly gone, and the dog will finally settle down, and the unused boxes and luggage and bags will return to their proper places, and I will probably have a hard time falling asleep tonight while I stare at the empty half of the bed. And thus begins the first part of our journey.

The past few weeks have been fun, but exhausting. The goodbyes for Patrice started with a little gathering we hosted at the end of January with dessert and champagne. We started late and ended in the wee hours, and we had too much sugar in our systems, but knowing this was probably the last party we would host in this house was bittersweet. A week ago our dear friends Clare and Ali gave an elaborate dinner party in honor of Patrice; the food—singlehandedly prepared by Clare—was stunning and delicious. Sushi-grade salmon, middle eastern turkey meatballs, chicken with a pomegranate sauce, Persian rice, salad, and a ridiculously large number of cakes (some made by a bakery, some made by our friend Heidi from Berries and Flour) for dessert. Conversation flowed, piano and accordion and guitar and voices blended, and I finally managed to get a group photo of this special group of friends, albeit with a few missing faces.

Monday night we celebrated a third goodbye, this time with a group of families we’ve known since the infant room at daycare. The Doubets invited us over for Italian beef and catching up. We spent many camping vacations with these families up in Devil’s Lake, Wisconsin. Now the oldest ones are driving, the high school boys are over six feet tall, and the conversation has progressed from finding babysitters to learner’s permits and study abroad trips. These kids are growing up and they don’t see each other often, but they still enjoyed each other’s company as much as when they were making sand castles together, throwing frisbees, and canoeing at Devil’s Lake.

On Tuesday I had a special treat. My friend Pam had an extra ticket for Hamilton in Chicago. We picked up her nieces, aged 11 and 13, from school and skedaddled up to Pam’s apartment in Chicago. We freshened up and took a cab in the pouring rain to Petterino’s, a well-known Italian restaurant near the theatre. After a lovely pasta dinner we somehow avoided getting soaked before getting into the theatre. Hamilton was divine, and I was ever so glad to have been able to see it before leaving Illinois. The next morning we went to a quintessentially north side breakfast place before returning to Champaign. As we left, I looked out the window at the familiar sight of the Chicago skyline, then at the winter blue of Lake Michigan...I realized that all too soon, Chicago will be too far away to make a casual visit. It felt like another goodbye.

My friend Rebecca is a bit of an expert in moving long distances. Originally from Champaign, she’s lived in Russia, Egypt, Zimbabwe, among other far-flung locales; and more recently, Evanston, Chicago, and Iowa City. I called her on FaceTime recently to give her the news of our move, and she was happy to give advice. Her latest move was to fearlessly sell most of the contents of her two-story house in Iowa City, and a lifetime of treasures and collected items, and move herself and three cats to retire to the south of France. Wait to buy a house, she says, and only buy something you are sure you will be able to get your money out of later. And as for saying goodbye? “Oh,” she said, “saying goodbye was the best part! There were so many parties and dinners and drinks with friends. It was so much fun! You know, actually,” she said with a laugh, “moving away is kind of like being able to attend your own funeral. People come out of the woodwork to say how much they care about you, and how much you will be missed.”