I had a dream last night that we sold our house. I must be practical even in my subconscious, because I worked through the entire negotiation phase in my sleep. And when we were done, I was so happy. I didn’t feel any sadness about leaving this house at all.
When we put our house on the market a few weeks ago, it was with great relief. After months of weekend projects and nonstop cleaning, I couldn’t wait to be done with it all.
With each showing, I ask myself if I’m really ready to leave this place.
This was our first home to own. When we bought it four years ago, I walked around the perimeter, examining each brick, thinking to myself: I own every brick on this house.
When we bought this house, I was newly pregnant. Everything was fresh and exciting. The world sparkled, and those four walls housed so many hopes for our future.
Nothing turned out as I had planned it.
I discovered the house was fine, but I desperately wanted to relocate it. We had moved three times before, and never had I disliked a town like this one. I felt stuck before I even knew how stuck we were, because six weeks after we moved, we had J 14 weeks early. Now, that is stuck. When you have a baby in the hospital, then you know what stuck is.
Our house was both a refuge and a prison, depending on the moment. I both loved and hated it. It was solid and well-built. We made it our own. We made it a home, but it was always temporary. And we were always looking toward the future, when we wouldn’t need downtown NICUs and high-risk doctors and specialists, when we could cut our ties with this place.
After we listed it, I walked around the house and took notice of all we have done to it. Our touches are in every room. I am so sentimental, and this is the home where I brought my NICU babies. So, I was surprised to discover that everything that matters really can be boxed up and taken to our new life. The house has so much baggage for me that it won’t be a bad thing to start over again, in a place where the world sparkles.
I commented to my husband that for every good memory in this house, I have a sad one.
But, there is one spot that I will miss, a place in the middle of the deck my husband built. It is where J took his first steps. Where I sat, pregnant with M, and watched J play in the backyard. Where I pushed babies in a swing. Where we dined outside at our travertine table with company. Where my husband and I listened to the chatter of birds as we discussed our future. It is the only part of this house that is all joy and no sadness.
There it is, the one spot I will miss.
The winter before the deck was finished
A tired mama sunning with her baby
I looked out the back door one morning to see this...
J and his kitten
I was pregnant with M when this photo was taken.
The wisteria in the spring
Lunch with NICU friends