I've always had a schizophrenic relationship with nostalgia. In certain moments in my life I've wanted to freeze time and hold everything exactly like it was right there and then. From the outside it seems to be the easiest way out, but in reality it's not. Lingering in lost times is merely destructive in the sense that they will never come back like they once were. And hoping for them to repeat themselves in a new era is useless since the second time is never more than a bleaker image of the first. I think you've all experienced that at one point or another.
And no matter what you want to have me belive, life is limited, time is ticking because every day we come a little bit closer to the end. Wanting to stay frozen in the finest moment of your life is therefore nothing but an illusion, a self-deception that will sooner or later explode in your face, and by then it will all be too late. You won't be able to change the things you hate about life and yourself, and what you once loved is forever lost except for the precious but slowly fading memories in your head.
For my father, the illusion of a happy home broke down and shattered like glass right before him, so he had no choice but to move one. You could call it a blessing even though it sounds harsh, because he instantly knew he wasn't really happy with anything. Not that he had thought so before, but he had kept his pain and sorrow locked up air-tight, afraid of a possible change for the worse. It's how the human condition works, we're conservative even with the things that slowly kill us. It might not always be a good thing to pick up your belongings and leave everything you had behind, but the least you can do is evaluate it and think: is there anything else?
My father saw his future on the other side of the Atlantic, and until he was old enough to go, he was ready to put up with whatever mind-numbing bullshit his society dealt him. Time was after all on his side.