the state of my heart on august 27.

We’re still nomads. The other week I asked my nephew, Owen, if he wanted to come play at our house and he asked, “So … which house are you staying in now?”

He also told his mom in the car, “I’m so happy David and Julie aren’t going back to South Asia and get to stay here with us.” I’m so happy too, Owen.  I don’t want to leave you again, ever.

And our kids are amazing, truly amazing.  They are faring one hundred times better than I am.  They are being sweet to one another, affectionate with Mommy and Daddy, happy with all the places we go and the friends we get to see.  That is God’s grace.

They said “good-bye” to our August house yesterday, cheerfully went back to Nina and Papa’s for a sleep-over, while David and I cleaned and packed and cleaned some more.  They are bursting with excitement to drive up to Lititz tomorrow and see our family and have Judah’s birthday party on Saturday with their cousins.

Today, when we arrived back at my parents’, David, blessedly, took the kids out for a morning of errands and the Chick-Fil-A playground, while I unpacked each of the eight suitcases we brought from South Asia, and sorted it all once again: the “stay here” pile, the “month in PA” pile, and the “back to South Asia” pile.  I sorted through clothes, putting aside everything the kids have outgrown this summer, everything I’ve outgrown this summer, to send back to Priya.  She’ll know who needs them.

I feel like every move, every packing-and-repacking, takes me a little further away from South Asia.  And now, in September, the break will be final.  David’s dad will drive him to Philadelphia next week to fly back to South Asia for two weeks; he’ll sell our things, fit whatever he can into two or three suitcases to bring back to me (how do you cram a life into three suitcases?), and close up our apartment on King Street for good.  It will be a huge relief.  And a huge sadness.

So I worked alone all morning, crying because I know Priya will be there on the other end to help David unpack, to pass out gifts for my friends, to sort through our possessions and clean our apartment one last time.

But I don’t get to be there with her.  I don’t get to watch her open the things I sent her, see Roshan’s face when he gets his Spiderman and Batman toys.  I don’t get to laugh with her and work side-by-side in the kitchen with her.  I don’t get to say good-bye to our beloved city apartment, to walk the dusty streets of our neighborhood one last time, to eat a burning hot masala dosa with coconut chutney.

I don’t get to see our American friends, two families of whom are moving into new apartments this month.  I won’t get to picture in my head any more what their homes look like and which supermarkets they shop at and which parks they walk to.

I won’t get to say good-bye to Amanda and Asha, Ammara, Minoo, Deepakshi and Sakshi, Asha, Shammi, Sharon, Neetu.  Friends who made my life there so rich.

I know it’s best I’m not going with David.  It’s best for my health, which is still in the process of improving.  It’s best for my kids.  I know I’ll have a blast in Lititz with my in-laws, see friends, drink in the rolling farmland of Lancaster County, meet Lauren’s new baby boy, walk Judah and Ams to the park.

But my heart is so sad that I’ll be missing out.