Yesterday, Dayne & I said goodbye to our apartment. Our itty-bitty, practically-on-top-of-the-Rt.-30-bypass, faces-the-garages-and-garbage-dump, beautiful, lovable, first-married apartment. The place I moved into mostly by myself (I dutifully carried my TV down the hill and up the stairs in the summer heat, wondering if I was going to make it). The place where I lived as a single gal for a month before we got married. The place where I had my bachelorette sleepover with some of my best girlfriends. The place Dayne tried to move his stuff into and it didn’t fit at all because I had already filled every nook & cranny with my stuff. The place where I got ready with my bridesmaids and out-of-town friends for my wedding. The place we came home to after our honeymoon. The place where we unwrapped all of our wedding gifts. The place where we fought, made up, loved each other, and lived life for the first nine & a half months of our marriage.
We both love our new house to pieces – we really do – but when we were locking up the apartment yesterday, we both got a little emotional (I, perhaps, got a lot emotional). It’s hard to leave memories behind, particularly if they are emotionally strong memories.
For me, it’s hard to think that someone else will be living there in that space, since it was the birthplace of the most amazing relationship I will ever have in my life. Dayne says we will make lots of memories in our new house, most likely more amazing memories than anything we’ve experienced thus far. He also says it’s our first real home. I agree with him. But I still think you will never get your first year of marriage back (although some people would argue that’s a good thing), and Apartment 252 held all the special memories of that time.