This is, ‘The Stories We Tell’, a weekly series of true accounts in all things motherhood. These 100% vulnerable, raw and ferociously honest tales are taken from the monthly LA based storytelling event, Mothers Unleashed. This week, we’re sending you Amelia’s story about her upcoming move - and the community she’s formed. Amelia is the co-founder of Mothers Unleashed.

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We're moving. Tomorrow, in fact. Into a very sweet 3 bedroom house. It has a front and a backyard, and the neighborhood is cute and walkable. We’re extremely lucky – beyond lucky and privileged, in fact – to be able to buy a house in Los Angeles. I know this.

And yet, I'm so very sad.

It's an odd experience, change. My mother confronts change head on, without allowing a moment's doubt to crack through her surface. She can't fathom why I'm sad to leave our one bedroom, West Hollywood apartment. We're stuffed to the brim in here. Sometimes it feels impossible to keep this place clean – any single item out of place makes it look like a tornado hit. Lana, our toddler, still sleeps in a pack-n-play, since there's no room for a proper crib. For 17 months, my husband, Lana, and I have all slept in the same room. We put her down at 7pm, spend a few minutes eating, then quietly watching TV, and we tiptoe into bed at 10pm. She wakes up at 5:45am and screams in my face until I roll over and greet her. When she naps, I forbid anyone from using the toilet – the sound of the running water, bathroom fan, or sometimes even the click of the light switch wakes her up, since the bathroom is right next to the bedroom. And God help the dog if she barks at anyone in the hallway…

But of course, this is our home. It's all Lana has ever known, and the process of packing has left her surprisingly clingy. There's a perfect little park around the corner where everyone knows her name – not mine, just hers – and she loves walking through the neighborhood, pointing out the "bir bir birds!" in all of the West Hollywood greenery. The grocery store is around the corner, which is wonderful when I realize I'm out of milk at 5:30pm.

Mostly, I'll miss our friends. I joined Mommy and Me classes in West Hollywood, so it's common for me to bump into mom and dad friends on the street, or at that lovely little park I just mentioned.

And, there's a very special friend we've made while living here. Before having Lana, I pretty much kept to myself when it came to living in an apartment building. I was friendly with a neighbor around my age and his girlfriend – they have a dog that Eric and I joke is our dog's only friend – but that was it. But once I had a smiling, redheaded baby strapped to my chest, everyone wanted to stop and say hello. Especially the old lady sitting on the balcony with her caretaker – Lucy and Mary.

While walking my dog after Lana was born, Lucy and Mary would wave. Mary would help Lucy to her feet and they'd coo over Lana as Lana tried to make sense of the two forms – Lucy, 95, and Mary, 65, one story up. After a few times of Lucy offering, in her thick European accent, "to come up and visit, any time, any time!" I finally did. It was awkward at first – I didn't know this woman, and she didn't know me. We only focused on Lana. It was easy to do, because Lana wasn't crawling yet. She'd just sit in the middle of the floor and smile as we entertained her. But, Lucy enjoyed her time with Lana so much, that I came back the next day and the day after that. Eventually, Lucy retrieved a basket of toys from her neighbor. Lucy had given a neighbor the toys when she found out that the neighbor was having a grandchild, but now that Lucy had a great-grandchild by proxy, the toys were returned.

As the months went by, Lucy and I grew closer. Eventually, I started asking questions. First up was Lucy's thick accent. "Where are you from?" I asked. "Hungary," came the response. But she didn't want to talk more about it. A few days later, I asked her, "When did you move to the States?"

"1946," she replied without blinking.

I looked at her in a bit of shock. "You were in Hungary… through World War II?"

She nodded. "My grandmother brought me and my mother over right after the war."

As I left that day, I double-checked – yes, there was a mezuzah on the door. She's Jewish. She's a Holocaust Survivor.

My own grandfather was a Holocaust Survivor, but he passed away more than ten years ago. Longer. I always felt like I didn't spend enough time with him, didn't call him enough, didn't talk to him about his past enough. With Lucy, I felt like I had gotten a second chance. After that day, I tried not to miss an evening with Lucy and Mary, and if I did, I texted Mary to let her know why.

Lana loved visiting them. It's been a year, and now Lana is doing much more than sitting in the middle of a circle, staring at our adoring faces. Lana is a toddler, now.

Every night after dinner, I ask if she wants to see Lucy and Mary, and she chirpily responds, "Yah, yah, yah!" She doesn't even wait for me to put on her shoes – she'll be at the door, ready to go. And all we have to do is go down one flight of stairs. When we get to their hallway, Lana will demand to be put down so that she can race to their door. I'll ring the doorbell, and Lana won't even wait once the door is opened. She'll push right past Mary, who cheerily lets out, "Hello, baby! Mrs. Lucy, it's Lanaaa!" in her Filipino accent.

But Lana is already at Lucy's side, who is sitting at the dining room table. Lana will push aside Lucy's walker so that she can touch Lucy's leg. Lucy, meanwhile, will be in a robe, reading something with a magnifying glass. "Where are you, my angel baby? There you are!" she'll coo once she spots her. But once again, Lana won't wait; after touching Lucy's leg, Lana is off to the kitchen and standing underneath the cookie tin that rests high up on the counter. Mary will laugh again, stomp her feet in a playful way as she scoops Lana up, and say, "You want a cookie?!" At one point, Lucy insisted that Lana never have a chocolate cookie, because chocolate is bad for babies. (I guess?!) So, Lucy buys Lana special graham crackers or sugar free oatmeal cookies. Then, cookie in hand, Lana speeds into the sitting room where her basket of toys from the 1970s waits for her in the corner.

It was perfect, really.

Lana took her first steps at Lucy and Mary's. And Lana crawled there once, too, though she never crawled for real – she actually went straight from scooting to walking.

I write all of this, and I notice I'm switching in and out of the past tense. That's because our time with Lucy and Mary will never be the same, as nothing ever is. Life is constantly changing, thank God, otherwise you'd be… dead. But that doesn't make change any less difficult. I've lived in West Hollywood for 11 years, and in many ways, I came of age here. I had tumultuous relationship after even more tumultuous relationship, career change after career change, and I met Eric, my husband, while living here. But the reason I'll miss this place the most, and the reason I'm sad, is because of the community I've formed since little Lana bean was born.

Lucy and Mary were there for me when my days were long and difficult. Every night after Lana's dinner, when I didn't know what to do for those tiresome 45 minutes before we had to start bedtime and Eric got home, we'd go to Lucy and Mary's. And Lana got to experience the unconditional love and endless-cookie-stuffing that comes when you live near a grandparent. Lana's own grandparents live across the country, and of course my young friends all live busy lives, so having someone to visit and rehash the day with as they complimented my perfect child – well, it was special, to say the least.

I know we'll visit Lucy and Mary in the future, but it will not be the same. It will not be when I'm at my wit's end and just need a break. No, now it will be a planned visit, including a 30-minute drive there and a 30-minute drive home.

When I visited Lucy today to say goodbye, after being too busy for the past three days to visit, Lucy had clearly been crying. She's going to miss Lana. Us leaving her is another reminder of how homebound she is, of how life is moving on without her, and of how much she misses her husband of 70 years, her son who passed away more than twenty years ago, and her friends who are no longer with her. Lucy taught me a lot – of how you're never too old to make new friends, and new family, for that matter. But mostly, she taught me about how important it is to let people know that you love them and to make time for them, even when you think you're too busy.

Anyway, we're moving tomorrow. Change is big and scary, but it is also beautiful. I'm very lucky to have so much of it in my life.