We won't have arrived, but we will have gone.
Five years of our shared lives, the beginning of our marriage, the births of our children all took place while we were living in this house. I will never forget it. It has been the heart of my family since before we were a family. And I hope that it will not forget us.
But I am concerned that I will forget its details. That like a long-lost friend I will forget the way its eyes crinkle when it smiles, or whether it parts its hair on the right or the left.
It has idiosyncracies, and quirks, some of which it was born with, and has lived with for over a hundred years, and some of which we have created and which may not survive much beyond the end of our lives here, but all of which I love, and all of which deserve to be recorded. And remembered.