My father chose to die at home. He hated hospitals, so the nurses came to us. First, they brought medicine to comfort him. Then, the morphine so he didn’t have to experience what we all watched. It was a Wednesday morning when I saw him lying in bed, lips blue. 

The following weeks were a blur. Flowers and a funeral. Sympathy cards, then silence. At some point during this period of intense grief, my mother rearranged the furniture in their - now her - bedroom. She also replaced the mattress. 

I’ve told this story recently when asked about the decision my wife and I made to move to Philadelphia this summer. It’s the only thing that helps me to communicate the intense mixture of emotions as I prepare to leave DC, my home of almost twenty years.

My mother knew life had to go on. She carries many wonderful memories from her life with my father, but she knew she couldn’t make it comfortable for his ghost to remain present. She had many reasons - three young sons, in particular - to find a way to move forward. 

There was a family that needed her, a life to live. So, she moved the furniture. She made it her bedroom. She would occasionally visit those memories of that life once lived, but those memories could not visit themselves upon her every day.

Like my mother, I intend to move furniture. But, mine will be going a bit further. And, there is much to celebrate about this move. My son will grow up far closer to his grandmothers. His closest-in-age cousin will live nearby. There are many in our village that are thrilled about the news.

But, moving our furniture is about escaping ghosts, too. I need to live in a place where I can focus on my professional present and future, not what I once was. It’s hard to imagine reentering the DC arena when I feel like I’ve already seen the emperor’s thumb turn downward.

Innumerable positive memories remain, and I will visit them often. My first child has already started spending time with the kids that let me love them before I was dad, and telephones and train tracks will keep those relationships close. But, I can’t live with the ghost of my previous life anymore. This summer, I need to move the furniture.