It may seem obvious, or simple, but more and more it's becoming clear to me that this leaving process is more than leaving a place - the streets, the food, and the people - its also a remembering what life was like in this place. What were their habits? What did their voices sound like? What struggles were they facing? and who were they, when we lived in this place?

I look back at some of the places we've lived with out kids - the group home on Berry Rd, the in-law suit in Fort Washington, PA. Gillette, Wyoming - and I don't really remember my kids and how they were. I think of them now.

And I don't like it. I want to remember them as little things who leave their backpacks and jackets outside (JUDAH!) because hopefully, please God hopefully, it will one day be a memory and not a habit. In future years, I want to look back and see Eden's early years of art - the beads and drawings of horses. 

I want to remember Zion reading before she could read.