I had “mommy brain” as I packed up everything. I was sleep deprived, extremely sore from the vacuum extraction (and botched incision) from the Cat’s birth, and completely worried. I threw away and gave away as much as possible, I organized and packed in an absolute haze. I couldn’t think straight, and yet I knew I had to remember what belonged to the school (we were living in subsidized housing in a partially-furnished apartment,) and what I might need later, avoiding packing things that the Cat would need immediately. I didn’t want to waste money by packing everything only to throw or give away a bunch once we arrived in CA. I didn’t want to waste food (gave most to a food bank) or books (tried to donate to the library, but ended up leaving them in the basement of the apartment in the hopes some would be claimed.) I wanted to pack everything in an organized fashion on the NY end so that unpacking on the CA end wouldn’t be hell.

I couldn’t prioritize. I couldn’t think through what we needed now versus what could wait for the moving van to arrive at our new place. It didn’t occur to me that we could simply buy anything that we had erroneously packed in a box instead of a suitcase. And of course I had first-time-parent syndrome in which every contingency must be planned!

New parent books always say, “Sleep when the baby sleeps!” But for me, it was “Pack when the baby sleeps!” “Pack when the baby is quietly playing with his Sparkling Symphony Piano or black and red baby gym!” “Pack when you should be sleeping!” (And there was another layer of complication in that I also had to pump while the Cat was sleeping because of a whole series of nursing problems. And ya can’t pack while you pump! I essentially dozed while nursing and pumping since those were activities in which I couldn’t pack simultaneously.)

I had to organize all my research files at the lab to be readable and interpretable for whoever would be taking over my project. I had to leave instructions and tie up loose ends, but I didn’t want to immediately tell my principal investigator that I was leaving until everything was in order. (The politics of the lab and the reasons why I decided to leave science are for a later post.)

I had to visit the graduate school office to officially announce my resignation while still retaining my ability to graduate (with a Masters instead of a Ph.D.) I feared this step, both from the “am I really quitting school?” and “I have to go up in front of this super important guy to tell him I am quitting?” angles. There were medical insurance issues that still needed to be taken care of, and other logistical details.

February 2001 was without a doubt the most stressed I have ever been.

The psychiatrist who I had been seeing literally shrugged her shoulders. She knew that the extreme stress, irritability, and worry that I was having would be consistent with post-partum depression, but the fact was that I was having a “normal” response to the magnitude of the stress: new baby, quitting school, husband’s new job, moving across the country. So my response wasn’t clinically significant. She told me I needed help packing. But Husband couldn’t help; he already had plenty of work to do. And my parents couldn’t fly out to help, either. We weren’t in a financial situation to have the movers do the packing (and I wasn’t in an emotional situation to trust the movers with that job, because of the aforementioned sorting and organizing involved.) I skipped my final appointment with her because I needed the time to pack!

There were small happy moments, such as when Husband sent me roses on Valentine’s Day, or when he made me attend Rent and Fosse. But I was in tears during the musicals, because on one hand I was so extremely happy to be watching the musical, but on the other hand, I knew that I was “supposed” to be packing, and I also knew these would be the last musicals I’d watch in New York (for the time being.) It was nostalgic and overwhelming.

Each time I did something “for the last time,” I was overwhelmed emotionally. We didn’t have time to do many of the “lasts.” For example, we didn’t go to Mo’s Caribbean or to the Blue Moon a “final” time. I wanted to enjoy New York before saying goodbye, but I had to pack.

The upshot of the emotional, physical, and psychological impact of February 2001 is that I left New York in a haze. It felt unfinished. I didn’t know what I had packed, and what I had given away. I was already confused and in new territory by having a newborn, but I was doubly-confused to “wake up” in California, in a new condo, in the town where I grew up in. I was back “home,” but with a husband and a newborn. But what had happened back East? How did I get a husband and a baby? What did I leave back East? Did I live there, or was it all a dream?

I needed closure. I felt as though I had left something back in New York.

Sometimes it is as mild as thinking “oh, I have that book,” and then realizing that I gave it away. But other times, I wonder if I left behind something important.

In Spring of 2002, I went back to New York for a meeting. I walked around the old neighborhood a bit and saw the changes that had come after 9/11. (The emotional impact of 9/11 and not being there was crazy, especially given that had I not made the decision to quit graduate school, we would have been there. I outline a few “what-ifs” in an earlier post.) When I walked around, I enjoyed reminiscing, but it was still surreal. I bought a shirt for Husband from the Blue Moon and I took some photographs with a throw-away camera that I purchased from our old grocery store. The conference was on the West Side, so I spent most of my time over there, but did get to eat dinner at the Blue Moon. When I left, I still felt as though there was unfinished business, but I was satisfied that New York still “existed” and that the life I remembered still was possible in part.

This past NY trip I finally got the closure I had hoped for. I realized as I was walking around in the rain that I was simply walking around. On one hand, I felt as though I had never left. So why would I just pace up and down the blocks? But then on the other hand, there were so many changes (lots of stores gone or remodeled; alas the fajita place is one of the casualties) that it was eerie to be dropped back into that environment. But it felt comfortable. I wasn’t missing anything.

Eating lunch at Focaccia Fiorentina, I realized that I had essentially come full-circle. This was the restaurant where I ate the first time I visited Cornell, as they were “courting” me to come to their graduate program. Sitting there, I could remember my younger, eager self. I could remember the promise, the future spread out in front of me. I recalled the excitement of finally having my own apartment. Husband and my courtship. My time with the Brooklyn Blades. Receiving “Honors” in my classes. The proposal. The move to our joint apartment. Passing my “Admission to Candidacy” exam. Giving birth to the Cat. And then I could finally remember what happened after the Cat was born. I could view the hospital where he was born. I could view our old apartment building, and our favorite hang-outs.

I knew it hadn’t been a dream. I knew that I can come back if I want to, and even though things change, the essence of New York remains. Plus, I have photographic evidence of some of my memories. And I am “awake” enough to remember.