M3 W3 D3: I will never again see the midnight sun

The Hubby called this afternoon, bursting with excitement. He has received his posting message.

The posting message is the official information you get when the military posts a member to a location (ie. when you move). You can do absolutely nothing before you get that posting message -- can't book the movers or the school or your recreation passes. And you especially can't get on the waiting list for married quarters.

Once you get your posting message, things tend to move quickly.

The Hubby has been posted with DFE -- dependents, furniture and effects. So me, the kids and all our stuff. And the posting is happening as soon as he graduates from basic officer training on April 26th.

He will come home, help me pack, and drive us to our new home in Victoria.

I will be in Yellowknife for about six more weeks.

Six weeks to say good-bye to seven and a half years. To friends and people who are practically family. To wrap up my job at Mother Corp and make sure they give me my superannuation. To get all our stuff packed, our extra stuff garage-saled, our house on the market. To gather up the medical records and immunization records for myself and the children.

Six weeks to set up our new life in Victoria. To get on the married quarters list and get a house. To choose a school for A. To move our bank accounts, our mailing address (especially with EI and the federal child care payments) and find out about moving our health care cards. To get Little I. on a pre-school waiting list.

Six weeks to say good-bye to the place where I had all my children, where I began my career as a journalist, to the professional contacts I've made and the reporters I've worked with.

I've waited for this day since last summer; however, I now feel as if I don't have nearly enough time to do everything I need to do.

All of a sudden, I don't want to go. I can't bear the thought of leaving this place. I will never see the midnight sun again. I will be gone before the nights turn into a long sunset, before the time when I hang one last load of clothes on the line to dry in the sunshine while I sleep.

No, it can't be.

And yet... a small part of my old self, the wanderer and adventurer, is still inside. And she is saying, "On to a new home, to a place I've never been and never seen with my own eyes! On to new people and stories and challenges! Woooo-peeeee!"