I’ve had assorted reactions, from others, to the news that we are moving: tears, excitement, surprise, the happy “OH”, the sad “oh”.  I’ve had all of these reactions myself and one I wasn’t expecting: grief.

Grief is not normally an emotion people associate with moving. Maybe – no not maybe, definitely – I am very sensitive, very attached, very sentimental. Don’t get too close to me because I will latch on and probably never let go.

I’m having a passionate love affair. He’s young (by certain definitions), charming, passionate, likes good food and culture. He even has a sexy accent. I’m spending time exploring every inch of him while I can. He’s trying to love me back, but it’s not easy some days, when he has other matters pressing. I am grieving over moving away from what has become, unexpectedly, a great love of my life – St. Louis.

I also grieve for my son’s boyhood home we will leave behind. Will my new house even feel like his home when he’s not coming there very often?

I grieve for the close friendships I leave behind. I have Facebook and email and twitter and Instagram to keep me connected but social media can’t replace calling Sue at 10 am and having lunch with her at 12. No one is more than a phone call away, I know this, I’ve moved enough to know the closest friends are there for me regardless of miles – but emotionally it just hurts right now.

I grieve for the professional relationships I’ve made, the writers in St. Louis I will now only collaborate with long distance. Will it be the same?

I know many will read this and come up with lists of all the good things connected to this move: being closer to family and friends, my son less than an hour away, beaches within 2 hours drive, no provel cheese. These are all good things, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to be sad to move.

I think, for me, the sadness, the grief, it’s part of the process and I need to work through it.

My great love will not be going anywhere, I will visit him often and enjoy his company. There’s comfort in that too. But in the meantime,  if you see me in the produce aisle and ask how things are, I apologize if I’m suddenly a crying mess. Give me a hug and remind me to take my xanax when I get home. I will get better in time, it will all work out, it always does.