Thirty one months ago I boarded a plane heading east. I left behind the beautiful Bay Area as I flew with my very pregnant belly to meet my husband in New York where he had gone several weeks earlier to start his new job and set up our new home.
I was so distracted by preparing for the impending birth and baby that the next five weeks flew right by. The Nut was born and the rest is history.
B and I have had many conversations about our old home, our favorites places, the things we miss. We see pictures, we talk to friends, we email and Facebook and reminisce.
Somehow I’ve managed to do it all from beneath a big fat veil of denial.
I love New York. At least I think I did when I was last there a month ago. I’ve made amazing friends and it’s felt like a fabulous place to raise my little girl and to be a mommy.
That was until B, The Nut, and I spent the last five days in the Bay Area as part of our big vacation. We saw our old homes. We ate at our favorite restaurants. We drove the roads and rode the trains that used to be parts of our every day lives. The weather was flawless and the hills were alive! Most importantly, we spent lots of time with our old friends. It was bliss.
And it broke my heart a little bit. I miss it all. A heck of a lot more than I’ve let myself believe for the past two and a half years. It felt like we picked up right where we left off (with the addition of a very loud and mobile kid) and this time I really didn’t want to say goodbye.
San Francisco, you hold a piece of me.
This post is devoted to my forever friends MeToo, EMae, Sam, Uncle A and the gang on North Central. I love you all more than words.