T minus 1 Day: We'll teach them how to say goodbye...

We've arrived. It's my last time sitting on my sofa and looking out of the window into a night broken only by lights reflected on the water.

Did I ever get my Transfer of Residence number? No, no I did not. Instead, I signed a statement to indicate that I am aware I will have to pay VAT on the cats and claim it back once I do have my number. However, I misread the checklist when sending in my precheck documents and failed to include the US health certificate—ordinarily, pets with passports wouldn't need it, but as the cats have had rabies vaccinations outside the EU, they still need an international vet's certificate along with their passport.

So the cats have failed their pre-check. I've submitted the correct (I hope!) documentation now and we'll see if that goes through before they leave tomorrow. I think they can still fly even without passing their pre-check, but I need to call the airline to check that.

It's been a crazy few days, frantically working and just as frantically playing in the knowledge that it's the last time I'll get to be with these people, these family clusters of friends, or the last time we get to go to these places that we've taken for granted for ten years. It has not been a few days with a lot of sleep.

So on Wednesday dinner with friends turned into karaoke with friends and getting to bed at midnight. I was awake at 5am Thursday, in order to submit the cats' precheck documentation for their flight and take pictures of them alongside their carrier so Virgin Airlines could confirm it was the right size.

Sample picture provided to illustrate acceptable pose

 

Take 1

Take 2

Take 4

Take 6 (final)

Then we went to the bank as soon as it opened to get a power of attorney statement notarised so that the house can be sold without my signature. We rushed home, dumped it on the breakfast counter and texted the agent that it was there for her to pick up. Then we went to Water Country USA for the day, because I'd promised the kids we'd go before we left.

I found myself feeling a bit blue at Water Country; we normally do it on a weekend before the schools break up when it's quieter; it's also been a family tradition for the kids' entire lives. But I was missing having another adult there and it hit me for the first time how much I was leaving. I started to catch myself on the verge of tears. Thankfully, the kids are older now and I was able to send them round the lazy river a few times while I took a nap in a deckchair. After that, I was able to get more into the swing of it and we had a blast together until a storm drove everybody home. We got back to the house late evening and I immediately went online and bought cat supplies (food, litter, a cat tree) from Amazon UK to be delivered to my parents. I ended up in bed at 11:30pm, for another five or six hours of sleep before I woke again with the anxiety of things that needed to be done.

Today, the last day, I've had a stream of messages, going back and forth with friends—some goodbyes, some coordinating. Several friends came round to help me by looting my house of toiletries, medicines, food... all the things you can't thrift but you don't want to just throw away. It was chaotic and glorious. We all had one last swing before it came down: I was quite regretful, until my son pushed me so hard I thought I was going to flip over at which point I was OK getting away from it. We'll take the swing to the UK with us, but we'll never have such a high branch to hang it from again.

Some of the family are more blase about the swing...

The kids went out with their father, and I spent most of the day working with assistance from friends. (Shout out to Terri who brought in the dragon statue from the deck and never noticed the wasp's nest hanging from its wing. I spotted it after she left and had to take the whole thing back outside so I could knock the nest off. Somehow nobody got stung today.) I took a break in the evening to go down to the local ninja course with the parkour group for some adult playtime and then out for dinner.

After a crazy but largely positive day, the mood dropped devastatingly when the kids' father brought them home. There was no good way for them to have that goodbye... but at least they had it. It was after he left that I started crying... for all the joyful get-togethers with my friends, for all those celebrations of the times we've shared.... there's one friend who I don't get to say goodbye to: the friend with whom I set out on this crazy move to the US in the first place. It had been preying on my mind off and on this week, knowing that we're out of time to miraculously fix our friendship before I go. Out of time to be able to hang out with each other again. Instead, we said a goodbye as perfunctory as the one I said to my son's orthodontist.

I sent the kids to have a shower while I cried. I wasn't fooling them, but at least I didn't have to cry in front of them. I couldn't afford to stop working either, so I went to bring in a few things from the deck... and stopped.

Outside, it was our last sunset. All the sounds of nature, the occasional hum of boats going by and sending ripples on the water. The golden light as the sun started to get low... it was peaceful and perfect.

The kids came down stairs and I called them to join me. There we talked about it being the last time, the end... but only the end of a chapter. Not the end of the story. (The ten year old loved that metaphor—to him, it's not a cliche.) And then we watched the sunset and celebrated our house.

One last time.

(One Last Time is also the name of the Hamilton track that Katie and Cathy sang to me on my driveway before they had to leave. I may not have the goodbye I wanted, but I've definitely had some amazing goodbyes.)