Moving On

  The time has come. It’s sad, but I knew the day would be here eventually. I stand on the porch and lean against the sturdy wood post. The lake glistens in the dancing, morning sun. The smell of pine trees and firewood dance around me. This is for the better. I have to leave this house now, but that means I’d have to leave all the memories created in this house behind as well. The memories that have made me who I am today. I remember like it was yesterday, building this house with my wife. Her smile in the light, her hazel-green eyes shining, her sun dress waving in the wind along with her long, wavy, golden brown hair.

     Suddenly, I can’t stop it. The memories come flooding in, busting through the flood gates. The cherished memory of proposing to my wife on the little boat on the lake, the moonlight casting over her, the crickets chirping and fireflies buzzing. The smile on her face matched the single tear rolling down her cheek. I instinctively look to the lake to see the boat abandoned on shore, rotted, alone. Again, the memories pour in. The first time our only daughter, Virginia, entered our home and the realization that I have a family, a daughter. I now walked through the front door, creaky and worn, to grab my final belongings. The flood didn’t stop though. Virginia’s first Christmas, all of our family gathered around the fireplace singing carols and laughing. I couldn’t help it. I looked to the fireplace only to see the charred bricks, the fire long gone. I remember how Virginia used to jump in the muddy puddles and then run through the house screaming and laughing while we tried to catch her. My wife always sang lullabies to drift Virginia to sleep, rocking her back and forth for hours upon hours. When Virginia was a baby, I remember flopping onto the couch, the same couch we had argued about getting. It seems so small and irrelevant now, but she didn’t talk to me all afternoon. The tears start streaming from my eyes. I cradled my aching head in my hands. Oh, to relive one of those blissful moments again. To sit on the porch with my wife, daydreaming about growing old together, hoping to move one day to a beach perhaps. To solve unimportant arguments, like when we had a yelling match over what color our room should be painted. To save them. If I’d known then what I know now.

     In December, they went on a mother-daughter trip to Florida. This was Virginia’s first time on a plane in her 6 years of life. The week prior to leaving for the trip they were full of excitement. Virginia had a countdown until the day they would leave, everyday talking about how much fun they'd have on the beach. Finally, the day came. They packed all their bags into our little red car. They were nearly late as they grabbed the last items on their way out. I didn't even get a goodbye kiss.  Before they boarded, they gave me a call. Virginia sounded ecstatic, my wife was very nervous on the plane but sounded excited as well. Their voices sound fresh and clear through the phone. I heard all the people in the airport frantically scurrying around. They planned to leave Friday and get back home on Monday, but unfortunately not everything always goes as planned. I awoke that next bitter cold morning to my phone loudly ringing and violently shaking my bedside table. It was the police station calling. My mind was still in a daze from the long night. The soft yet harsh words, trying to be disguised as kind, left the speaker's mouth.

     “I’m sorry, it’s your wife and daughter.” I had dropped the phone on the ground with a loud thud on my foot, but I couldn’t feel any pain. No, no, this can not be, I repeated in my mind that whole morning as I drove to the station. They must have had a mix up. When I arrived, I saw families weeping and screaming at the police officers. There was nothing the pilot could do, they said. No one survived. The days began to swirl together. For four months, I was alone with nothing left; my happy life had given way like the dry forgotten fallen leaves. I had been waiting, but for what? I could not answer that.

      I have to make this next step for myself. It’s what they would have wanted. I can’t keep soaking in my own sadness and surrounding myself in this pain and regret. I have to move somewhere new and start fresh. It sounds easy now but it’s more complicated than that. This move will change my life, but the memories won’t be gone. How could they? They aren’t contained in some house. They are with me, in my heart. And as long as I don’t forget them, they will always be with me. 

     I collected my last bag and tossed it into the trunk of the small red car. The morning mist has left the ground dewy. I shut the car door with a thunk. The For Sale sign stood out like a sore thumb by the house. It hadn’t been sold yet, but I couldn’t wait any longer. The grass is swaying in the breeze. The lake etched with the rippled water. I know where I’m going, where my wife always wanted to grow old, where my daughter so excitedly yearned to go... the beach. I placed my hands on the cool, leathery, steering wheel. I looked at my home one last time, a place in which I experienced my happiest moments. The car started slowly and eased down the gravel path. The sound of the crunching gravel, the birds chirping, and the water swirling gave me hope that there is something out there for me, but only if I’m willing to make a change.