It is Saturday morning, day One. Every bone in my body is singing in protest, but gosh, what a great night’s sleep. This has been a week to remember—a tumultuous, relentless, exhausting, exhilarating, disappointing, sad week. We all feel like we got our money’s worth.

I think Jen and I decided at some point to keep things as normal as possible with the kids for as long as possible, so they went to school right up until Thursday, even though our home closing was yesterday, Friday, at nine am. Jen and I went to our jobs on Monday, the day the pod arrived. When I opened it, my heart sank. Even less room than I remembered.  And three days to go.

What followed for the next four days is a blur. Disassembling trampolines and basketball backboards and soccer goals; tearful hugs from neighbors and promises to write; a revolving door of early morning landfill runs and late-night goodwill drop-offs; farming out cats and lawn furniture; on the spot giveaways; and always, always, more piles materializing in the garage.

Jen and I by Thursday morning were poster children for the Walking Dead. Shuffling out into the garage with one of a thousand items formerly referred to as miscellaneous. Our three boys retreated into a sulky, wounded place. Their faces mocked our decision of a sunny Mother’s Day morning so many months ago.

And in the end, the house was empty and forlorn and the motorhome was overpacked, ten minutes to spare. Ten minutes to remind myself that we are always, always being taken care of. Even when we forget. Ten minutes to say thanks, at all that has been, and yes, to all that will be.

Ten minutes to be grateful, beyond words, for the help of Bill and Alice, Cheryle and Eddie, Rich and Teresa, Eileen and Bill, Dave and Lori, and Theresa and all our family and friends who not only helped us realize our dream, but just made it so deeply painful to leave our home and town.

Once in Florida back in the day, I found myself in a chat with Jimmy, a guy in Bow Channel campground. I said I had to get home to an ECHO reunion, but hated leaving Florida.

“But don’t you know?” he said, “The best time to leave is when things are at their best. It makes me want to return, again and again.” If Jimmy was right, then we couldn’t have picked a better time to leave. Thanks, to all our wonderful neighbors and friends, and family.

Now, please join us on our travels. First stop, Mount Airy, Maryland!