We are moving. What prompted this sudden uprooting is still too tragic to put into words. Once we are settled, I hope to gain a little perspective, a little humor, and then I will write about the details. We will still be in Brooklyn, but a new neighborhood, closer to Uta's school. We will be able to sleep thirty additional minutes in the morning! This is huge. And on the return side, the quicker commute means more 'home-time' for Uta in the afternoons. This is like hitting the jackpot for the boy, he desperately craves home. He complains on a daily basis about not having enough time to play with his legos. The afternoons at our house are always this mad squeeze to fit everything in, my agenda and his, and still sleep at a reasonable hour. It rarely happens. So the move is good. We will have more time, ride fewer trains, and be closer to friends.
But it is still a move, and moving is always horrible. Anxiety rises as more and more of our everyday gets packed into boxes. At night especially, worries bloom, and protests rise up. This is home for Uta, it has been for three years. Although he has moved several times already in his young life, this is the first time he really comprehends what's happening and can voice his concerns. And this is his home. He loves it here. This too far from everything, awkwardly arranged, extremely loud, third floor walk up is home. It is love. And this love is not unrequited. According to Uta, this whole house loves him. This whole house will miss him.
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