Today is the day. The movers are here at 9AM, loading up our San Francisco life in boxes. As I listen to the loud sound of tape whipping around our furniture and take in the shallow morning sounds of the city one last time, I wonder, “how does four years of life fit into thirty boxes and a medium-sized moving truck?” The truth is, it doesn’t.

Our imprint on this beloved city will live on even after we go. It’s buried deep inside us both. It’s in our Godson, Vicente Raul Topliffe. It’s in the birth center at 16th and Capp where Max took his first breath. It’s on the first floor of Ketchum where I heard my dear sweet mom had taken her last breath. It’s in each of our friends who made our life here far more meaningful than we ever expected. It’s on the purple, blue and orange walls of 25 Baker Street, apartment number two. It’s at Alamo Square Park where the younger versions of us ran freely with Pablo that first day we set foot in the City by the Bay. It’s in the mountains that Micah has conquered and loved so dearly and on the soft, cold sand lining the even colder ocean water. We are here. A large, unforgettable piece of us will stay here even though we won’t, and I’m grateful for that.

So, today is the day. But, tomorrow is exciting.

Farewell blue house. Hello white mountains.

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