My husband and I are making Aliyah in a few months. To be more precise, I am making Aliyah; he is returning. When we married, we knew this was going to happen – it was just a matter of time (it was, in fact, a prerequisite for him). We had originally decided on a date no later than 2017, but family circumstances moved that date forward by a couple years.

We are now only three or four months out from the big move and it’s becoming very real. Things I am doing, people I am seeing, even appointments make me realize that this really is happening. Some are a little easier than others…

This is our last (brutal) winter we have to experience. I went to my dentist appointment yesterday; I didn’t have to schedule my next one. Old friends came in on their twice-yearly visit from Boston – I won’t see them again before we move. We are celebrating my son’s first birthday – it’s likely the last one we will celebrate in the United States, and thus, this is the last one my father will ever attend since he doesn’t fly.

The last one is particularly sobering. My mother passed away 17 months ago, and my father is 77 years old. Will I see him again? He’s relatively healthy, but who knows?

And what about my nieces and nephews, my siblings and good friends? Thank goodness for technology; we will be able to Skype, Glide, and all those other wonderful applications that turns into verbs. They will allow us to remain in touch while I’m 6,000 miles away, even though it’s just not the same and never will be.

Each step, each day, and each farewell adds to the snowball, but I try and focus on the positives of Israel, the climate, my friends and family in the Holy Land, raising my child in our country, having him speak Hebrew better than me, daydreaming of him wearing that special shade of green and serving our Land, and, most of all, being Home where we all belong.