The closing

"The closing" occurred this afternoon.

A good phrase, closing.

In future, when I say, "Whew, it's good to be back home," it won't be in the 'home' I  lived in for 18 years. That 'home' has been closed.

I don't know where the new home will be yet. That's kind of exciting.

For the weekend, home is at a friend's house.

For a few weeks after that, home will be at my mother's.

For a month after that, it will be another place.

I feel no regret about leaving my house of 18 years. Mostly, I just feel a luxurious tiredness that, over the weekend, I will fix with long nights' sleeps, a couple of naps, and what another friend calls "staring at the walls." 

The closing does not include the loss of my family and friends, fortunately. Thanks to cars, trains, planes, webcams, email, and phones - there is a connection there no matter where any of us are physically.

The protagonist of a book I once read theorized that when she flew from the U.S. to Europe, a luminous aural thread trailed behind her, stretching out and out as she moved farther away from her home base, but keeping her always connected. She imagined all of her fellow passengers spinning out their own ephemeral threads.