I moved to Brooklyn to live with Darryl towards the end of 2003. We made our home together a 3-bedroom pre-war apartment in Windsor Terrace, right near Prospect Park. We loved having family stay with us and having friends over. Our dogs introduced us to wonderful neighbors. Darryl knew every coffee shop in the neighborhood, and I got to know the paths in Prospect Park like the back of my hand. We spent our days apart and came together in the evenings for meals and TV and music and laughter. The apartment was truly our home base.
Darryl died of a sickle cell crisis at the beginning of COVID-19, and the apartment never felt the same without him. As Joni Mitchell sang, “The bed’s too big, the frying pan’s too wide.” Every siren outside seemed to be an alarm warning, “Darryl’s gone. Darryl’s gone.” No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop knowing what I had lost. And so I decided to leave. I told his family, “I loved living here with him. I do NOT love living here without him.”
It’s been a slow process, but in early September, I knew it was time to pack up. My real estate broker said I could sell in the fall if I got the apartment ready quickly, so a friend and I worked steadily for 3 weeks clearing out everything personal. We took skis, tools, utensils, books, and clothes to The Big Reuse in Gowanus. I burst out crying as I took down the stuff we’d taped to the front of the fridge – pictures of family, pictures from trips to Europe and the Caribbean, cartoons, and little notes we’d written to each other. I hired movers to take stuff to storage and my new little flat in Nyack. We left just enough furniture to stage the apartment for the open houses which started in early October.
Now the apartment is in contract to be sold and if all goes well, the closing will be early next month. I invited my Brooklyn neighbors and some close friends over on New Year’s Day to bring in the new year and to fill the walls with noise, as Darryl would say. And we did. It was the first party I’d had without him. Luckily, the kitchen chairs, sofa, and the coffee table remained. I was a nervous wreck that morning – sure there wouldn’t be enough food or the right drinks. But somehow, folks came and laughed and brought delicious dishes and drinks and hugged and laughed some more. It was a wonderful send-off, and I’m so appreciative.
I know in my soul that this move to Nyack is the right thing to do, but it also feels like a giant leap of faith. Sometimes I think I must be crazy to be leaving a great apartment in a great neighborhood. Nobody is forcing me to do this. Moving is never easy, and transitions take time. I know that. I am joining almost all of my clients who are starting over in one way or another.
And then I go to my new home, where all my favorite photos and dishes and artwork are now, where it’s quiet, and where I can see the beautiful Hudson River from the living room. Luckily, I have Sophie Gooddog with me to help me make friends and get to know the neighborhood.
As we move from one year to the next and from one chapter of our lives to the next, may we all have hopeful moments and easy transitions.
Happy New Year to you.