We closed the door on the flat we have rented for the past 9 months on 27 September 2012 for the last time.
It was a poignant moment. After a busy and somewhat stressful time of packing, we paused for a minute or two in the living room before leaving.
On the drive to my folks, where we stay for 10 days before heading to my wife's country, we reminisced about our time there.
Instead of casting around for disjointed memories, I was able to go through the sequence, sometimes by the day, other times by the weekend, when life had been a little more mundane.
The visitors. The milestones. Days of extreme weather.
On our last morning I had taken my last 10 km run, a distance that has now become my standard. Over the course of the hour I went over every day, pulling the images from my mental calendar. Sometimes there was a particular resonance - it was on 15 July that I pulled a muscle in my calf on this same track and had to hobble home, for example.
Much has happened.
There is something deeply satisfying about being able to remember every day of it.
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