A friend will help you move, but a true friend will help you move a body.

There are several variations of that line, and I love the sentiment. The body notwithstanding, helping with a move is a big deal. I should know; I've relocated a lot over the years.

I moved so many times in my life, when people ask me where I’m from, I respond, “When?”

I lost track at 13 moves, but that does not include moving back and forth to college each year when I was at St. Bonaventure University in western New York.

My parents balked at the seven-hour drive after my freshman year, so they usually sent me and my brother John by plane or bus and shipped boxes of our stuff after us. The exception was my senior year, when our younger sister Mary Anne joined us at college for her freshman year.  

Almost all of my moves were in the same town or across the state. Some were long trips. My family lived in Kansas for a year when I was in third grade. 

A move is sometimes a life-changing experience full of equal parts anxiety and hope.

When I was a kid, relocating for dad’s jobs, the moves were long and involved completely new starts. There were new schools and new friends.

In a lot of ways, the move itself was easier for me, as I was just along for the ride. My parents had to work out all the logistics of a home sale and a home purchase, moving trucks, utility cancellations and activations, and on and on.

After college, that became my problem when I moved to Cortland, N.Y., for my first job as a reporter at the Cortland Standard. 

Moves got more complicated with a growing family and all the stuff that grows exponentially with more children.

That’s when you find out who your true friends are. I’m not knocking any friend who didn’t help with moves over the years. There can be a million reasons why someone can’t help. But for those who did come, I am eternally grateful.

I have also helped a lot of friends and family members move over the years. I am good at packing and unloading a car or truck.

When I was living in Waterford, north of New York’s capital, Albany, a bunch of us helped Rick Vecchio, a good friend and professional competitor, load up a truck outside his apartment when he was heading to a new job.

When we pulled down the overhead door on the back of the truck, I looked around as others were saying their good-byes and walking away. One of Rick’s co-workers and I were the last ones still standing with him.

I have a lot of respect for Rick as a newspaper man, and he is a good guy. He and his family and friends put me up when we went to a conference in New York City, as we didn’t have money to stay at hotels. 

I had planned to say farewell to Rick at his apartment, not knowing what his plan was for the move beyond that. 

I called home to say the three of us were on our way to Marlboro, Mass. It's normally a three-hour trip one way, but the snowstorm made it much longer.

While it was not a full-fledged move, we recently had a cabinet the size of a Buick delivered to our house outside Lewes. I needed help, so I called my brother John, who lives a few doors away. We have helped each other move all kinds of stuff since we became neighbors a couple of years ago.

A couple of strong guys showed up for the delivery, but we were worried the oak cabinet was so heavy they might need help.

It was an awkward lift. I wasn’t sure how we were going to get it over the second-floor railing. When we got to the top, John suggested tipping it on end, which allowed us to swing it over the railing and lower it to the floor.

The rest was pretty easy.

It definitely helps to have somebody to rely on for a move, even when there is no body involved.