Saying Goodbye to the House I Grew Up In

This weekend I said goodbye to the house I grew up in. Until a few years out of college, it was home, even though I had moved out of the house. Then when I started calling my apartment in Boston home, it became "12 Southgate." [The address is 12 Southgate Circle.]

"I will be at 12 Southgate on Saturday afternoon," I would say, meaning I would be going to my parents' house.

My parents are downsizing, moving to a condo they own in Mystic, after a few weeks squatting at my brothers' homes or at my family's beach cottage in Old Lyme (where I am now).

I spent one final night at 12 Southgate on Saturday, sleeping in the room where I wrote my first research report. Honestly, it was not as sentimental as it probably could have been.

Maybe it hasn't set it yet. Since college, the holidays were the times that I spent the most nights at 12 Southgate. Maybe it will hit me in November, when I drive to Connecticut for Thanksgiving. Where will I go?

I won't go to Franklin. My hometown. In fact, I might not go to Franklin again for a long time. The 1200 plus residents there can now live in peace. My parents move out on June 3.