It's time...

The sunset from our bedroom window the other night

We just took apart our bed. The person who bought it should be here in about an hour to pick it up.

As far as closing a life chapter goes, dismantling the bed you've slept in for five years is a pretty significant step. I thought for sure that when I saw our bedroom empty for the first time, I'd lose it. The dark red tiles sitting quietly bare in their little rows. The view out the window I'd woken up to every morning, but without the lace curtains framing it...

I thought I'd feel sad when I realized I'd never again sit on our bed or see it made up with my favorite sheets and the pillow with an embroidered W on it, which we turn upside-down to make an M for Masson. (They were out of the letter M at the store, but I loved the pillow and they had a W left on the shelf.)

But I didn't cry. I didn't even really feel sad. (So, of course, being the daughter of family counselors, I dug deep and tried to conjure up any emotions supressed as a coping mechanism.)

I realized in that moment that the only reason I would ever see our bedroom the way it used to be would be if something went wrong. Our furniture has sold. We've set the departure date for our apartment. We have our tickets. The loose ends are being tied up.

The only reason we'd stay here now is if something goes wrong. Which means that moving forward is right. It's time to go, and my heart is ready.