I checked the time on my cell phone; it said 4:03 am. I was standing a few feet away from my home's front door, in the dark of January 6th, of this year. My big blue jansport backpack, red roller carry-on and oversized black suitcase were stacked upon the tile, all packed and ready to be shipped across the country with me. I was sickly and aggravated and emotional, and I looked around for the last time before heading out to the truck with my parents. The house was full of Christmas decorations and baby clothes and there were still snacks left out on the kitchen counter. No one else was awake, all of my siblings and nieces weren't too aware of how early I was actually leaving. I stood there in the doorway and I embraced the fact that this was the last time I would see home for at least another 12 months. I understood that it wouldn't be my home anymore. I gave the barn a once-over, winced, and walked out the door.