In the final moments in the house, I spent a lot of time trying to get a great photo of the door knob in our tiny kitchen pantry, in our tiny galley kitchen. I had a mountain of other things to do – cleaning, hauling, sorting. The weight of a move half-done hung over me. But this knob was a detail I feared I may long forget, when this house became a distant memory. By this point the house was nearly empty, and everything sounded over loud. Every move I made sent out sharp, jarring echoes.
For whatever reason, this door knob always captured my imagination. Maybe because it was a last original detail in an otherwise completely rehabbed room. Maybe it was that the keyhole was deep and dark, like it might hide secret worlds, or at least secrets. The symbolism of doors left slightly ajar was not lost on me either. To move on, this door must close.
The move was a slow burn. We saved for years, house-hunted for months. Like all things that seem far away, one day, suddenly, the move was a lump in my throat. Endings are just hard, even when there’s something exciting ahead.
This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “Share your year in photos. Was there a moment of unrestrained happiness? An unexpected encounter?”