When Moving feels like leaving a part of yourself behind

Today, the movers came in, and with them, a wave of emotions I wasn’t fully prepared for. Over the past 30 years, we’ve moved more than 12 times, each relocation bringing its own set of challenges and memories. But this move, this transition from our home in New Jersey, has been the hardest one yet. It might seem strange to some. After all, we only lived here for a year, and much of that time was spent away—in New York for three months and then in Chicago. So why does leaving this place feel so overwhelmingly difficult? The answer lies in the memories this home holds, memories that are intertwined with the essence of Sana. In the bathroom, her half-used shampoo and conditioner still sit on the shelf. Her makeup, her hairdryer, her toiletries—they all remain, as if she might return at any moment to use them. Her shower cap, with strands of her hair tangled in it from the immunosuppressants that caused so much of it to fall out, still hangs where she left it. Her shower gel, her towel, the bedspread she used—all of these items are reminders of her presence. Even the packets of Epsom salt I bought for her, encouraging her to soak in it to detoxify, are still neatly organized. Her hair clips and accessories are all in their places as if time has stood still. The reason I’m sharing this is to express a truth that many who are grieving might relate to: when you’re going through grief, rational or logical thinking often takes a backseat. People might not understand why I’m feeling so strongly about leaving a place where we lived for such a short time. But it’s not about the place itself—it’s about the memories attached to it, the tangible reminders of Sana’s life that make this space feel sacred. Grief doesn’t follow a logical path. It doesn’t adhere to timelines or societal expectations. It’s deeply personal, manifesting in ways that might seem irrational to those on the outside. But that’s okay. It’s okay to feel this way, to have moments where you feel completely untethered by the loss. Today, as we packed up and cleaned the apartment, I felt a profound emptiness inside. It was as if each item we moved took a piece of me with it, leaving behind a hollow shell. But even in this emptiness, I hold onto the hope that these memories will continue to live on. The things we take with us—the physical reminders of Sana—will help us recreate a new space in Chicago, where her presence can still be felt and her memory can continue to be cherished. This move isn’t just about changing locations; it’s about navigating the complex emotions of loss. It’s about understanding that grief isn’t something you can pack up in a box and leave behind. It stays with you, shaping how you move forward and hold on to the memories of those you’ve lost. So if you’re going through something similar, remember that it’s okay to feel strongly, to grieve in your way, even if it doesn’t make sense to others. It’s not about the place—it’s about the love, the memories, and the life that was lived within its walls. And as we move forward, we carry those memories with us, finding new ways to honor them in the places we go next.