Settling in on Cape Cod

A trek through the holly.

It’s taken a few days, but we are finally settled into the house on Cape Cod.

Our big trips never begin as seamlessly as I plan. If anything, getting out the door and on our way, I become an emotional wreck. I’ve yet to escape a deep and mournful melancholy during my last days at home. I can’t say for sure why this happens, but I imagine it has to do with knowing the person leaving home will not be returning. Goodbyes are dreadfully painful for me—even when it comes to saying goodbye to my present self. All of this must surely be rooted in childhood abandonment issues. Lose a mother when you are in second grade and then watch each of your eight siblings leave the house as the youngest, and that's bound to happen, I suppose.

The ache settles in my emotional gut, and I mope around the hobbit hole those last few days. It’s the closest I come to feeling lonely. Whatever excitement I have for the trip is forgotten. I swear, during this tender time, I always come clo…