One Sunday it was just “the possibility of moving”, then one week passes and its “Ok, We’re moving”, and then a month passes and there’s a bunch of large, sweaty guys in my house packing boxes and taking away all my beloved possessions. It is a for sale sign in the yard as a daily reminder that this won’t be my house for much longer, not my room, or my swimming pool in the backyard, or the woods that form a green canopy in the summer. In reality this wasn’t the hard part. These were just possessions as I said, things that don’t matter when you’re lying on your death bed, looking around at the faces of people you’ve loved. So, that was going to be the hard part, the part where you have to say goodbye, but you’re not really saying goodbye, you say “See ya later” because it’s not as