As an English teacher, I need to start this by noting that a true ode would be written as a lyric poem. This is not a lyric poem. Please forgive my misuse of the word. Coming up with catchy titles can be quite a challenge. I considered “An Elegy to Apartment E” as a potential title as well, but that came with the same issue and was also much more depressing. I wanted the title to convey what I truly wanted to write about: a reflection on my appreciation for the home from which we moved.

When K and I first got married, we lived in this tiny, crappy one bedroom apartment that I absolutely hated. K loved it because, as he explained to me years later, it was where we started our marriage. There are two things I remember about that place: (1) how cramped it was and, therefore, how clutter it was constantly, and (2) how hard K tried to make it a fun place to live. He was always trying to make it better: pushing the furniture out of the way so we could dance in the living room, buying a $20 table off someone online because I hated that we didn’t have one, convincing me to initial the wet cement when the sidewalk outside was repaved… Still, I was happy to leave such a small place!

Unfortunately, when we moved from that tiny apartment, we moved in with my parents. I am grateful for their willingness to let us save money while I was in grad school but, let’s be real here: even though I have the greatest parents in the world who made it extremely easy to live with them, no married adult wants to live with their parents. Every day, while living with my parents, we drove past this apartment complex in their neighborhood. We assumed that we would never be able to afford to live there because it was in such a nice area. When we started apartment shopping, however, I dropped in on a whim, toured, fell in love, found out it was in our price range, and signed a contract without K even seeing the place.

That place was Apartment E. It was a spacious 2 bedroom with 1.5 baths. It had a large living room and dining room and a decently sized kitchen. Both bedrooms had walk-in closets and large windows that filled our home with light. When we moved in, our mish-mash of items took on new life. We worked to develop a decorating style; we completed improvement projects, such as building a mug rack and adding lights and curtains to our balcony; and we invited friends over as often as we could. It was within walking distance to my parents, and we took full advantage of wandering over there for dinner, card games, pool usage, etc. It was the perfect place for that time in our lives.

That apartment represented home to me. It was the only place I had lived after originally moving out of my parents’ house for college that felt like home. We made it our own, and I loved the comfort and safety I felt walking in the door. While living there, I graduated with my Master’s, survived lockdown, taught virtually, ran a half marathon, got pregnant, created a beautiful nursery, and gave birth. We celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, work successes, and friendship there. I learned to cook, and K blasted new music. It was where my child lived for the first 6 months of his life. Simply put, it was home.

Choosing to move was, at first, exciting. House shopping, while stressful, was fun. When looking for a home, you start to envision your future: what type of place you want to live in, where you want to put down roots, what it will look like to watch your now-6-month-old run up and down the stairs in a few years, how you’ll decorate, etc. When our offer on our now-home was accepted, the excitement came to a head. I was thrilled, but that joy was quickly replaced with deep sadness. Sure, I wanted the new house we picked out, but I also didn’t want to leave our home. (A house is not a home until you make it so.)

K, unlike me, was ready for a new adventure. He was motivated to pack whereas I dragged my feet. One night, he was working late, so I was left to do the night’s packing (We had a daily box packing goal.) by myself. I was halfway through a box when I started to cry. I felt like I was packing away all the good things that happened to us. Honestly, it took me nearly a month and a half to write this because it was so painful to say goodbye. Now, in retrospect, I do miss the apartment, but I am not sad. I didn’t pack away the good things: they’re still there; they’re just in my memory now, and that’s okay.

What made it so challenging for me, too, was how long the moving process took. Even though we hired movers, we still had to get tons of work done at the new house (painting, carpet, cleaning, throwing out things that were left there, etc.), clean the apartment, and move some things we either did not trust the movers with or had not got around to packing by the time they arrived. It took weeks to officially have everything moved, then we immediately launched into the holiday season. We moved in 4 days before Thanksgiving, so unpacking was an impossibility with family being in town. Plus, trying to unpack with a 6-month-old is not easy. Unpacking mainly took place while he was napping, then we could only do loud activities (like hammering nails or vacuuming) when he was awake. All of this to say, I was exhausted by the whole process on top of being sad. I hate to admit to this because I know K saw this as frustration with the new place and assumed a didn’t like it. I did! I just hadn’t adjusted.

This past weekend, we finally got most of our decorations unpacked and hung up family pictures and favorite pieces of art on the walls. The only boxes that linger are for “Bedroom 2,” the room that will be filled with our collection of books, camping gear, camera equipment, and Christmas decorations for the foreseeable future. It finally feels like we live there–at least to me. It’s starting to look like home! There are still things I am not used to in the house, but I am happy and excited to be there. It’s much bigger than the apartment, painted in colors we selected together, and already filled with our child’s laughter. It doesn’t feel quite the same as Apartment E, but I know it’ll feel more like home every day. As we make memories in this new place, I will grow to love it just as much.

In conclusion, I want to raise a metaphorical glass to Apartment E, the place where I learned what home could be outside my childhood home, the place where my husband and I lived our childless life to the fullest, and the place that served as our child’s first home. May whoever lives there next be blessed with the same love, excitement, and happiness as we were.

–M