A week ago we sold the house my children will always remember as home, the one they will dream about when they are the age I am now, when sleep makes them think they are young again.
We’ve packed and we’ve purged and we’ve cried – a lot – but we’ve also seen precious people who mean a lot to us, friends who’ve sat around our table through the years, and kids who’ve grown up right before our eyes. They’ve helped us put things into boxes, and loosen my grip on anything that didn’t make sense to keep. I’ve found that being a sentimentalist about e v e r y t h i n g has the potential of making me a hoarder.
Even now, just the thought of that is offensive to me – I am not a hoarder! Except the two-and-a-half filled and emptied curbside dumpsters would suggest otherwise. And the Goodwill truck locked and loaded with stuff that used to live in my house. And the things we sold on Craigslist. Not to mention all the stuff we’ve stored for our kids or later use, or given to friends who had the eyes to see the treasure in our trash.
It made my day when Abbie texted me a picture of my old copper cookie canister that had been gathering dust in my pantry (the holder of rarely used cookie cutters) sitting on her shelf alongside her wedding-new copper cookware.
We haven’t lived in that house full-time for three years – a long story that makes sense for us – so I didn’t expect…I wasn’t prepared for, the depth and breadth of emotion attached to selling it. We moved there the summer before our children began 1st, 3rd, and 5th grade; 13 years later we said our final good-byes. It is the summer before my babies’ sophomore and senior year of college, and the oldest is engaged and a year past her graduation.
If it sounds like I’m in mourning, I suppose I have been. I mean seriously – if I have trouble tossing a pair of ratty short-alls, so shredded you can barely figure out which hole to put your leg through, just because Tad gave them to me as a gift when Thomas, now 21, was born – it makes sense that selling the house we lived in during our children’s most formative years would be difficult. Shout out to Stephanie and Paige who looked at me like I had grown another head for wanting to keep those short-alls.
Still, Glory! Hallelujah! It’s sold and we’re thankful.
In addition to all the packing and purging and crying and good-byeing, we’ve been remembering.
We’ve watched our children’s lives pass before our eyes.
Three kids makes for many a keepsake. The things they’ve made for us. Treasured school and artwork. Love notes to us. Their special lovies. Every single thing stacked in their closets and crammed in our attic meant something. Stood for something. Held precious memory.
Every time I held a thing, whether to keep or toss or give away, it was an exercise in remembering. Memories are powerful.
Maybe something fun or important or special, or I don’t know, something less concrete. The boys sword fighting with light sabers. Thomas reciting all the lines from his pull-toy Woody from Toy Story – “There’s a ‘nake in my boot!” The way Rachel negotiated holding the most fragile of collectibles – “I just gonna ’tiss it.” Blond, curly mop. Wide, determined eyes, pudgy hands carefully holding. She never broke anything. The way Stephen would build with his Legos. His patience and persistence played me.
It’s an interesting phenomena to me, this conjuring of emotion. And despite all the tears – barrels of them – I’m not sad. Well, not exactly; there’s a tender melancholy to this closed door. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad or I wish it didn’t have to happen. It’s a saying good bye (for good) to what was, which enables us to fully grasp what is, and what is to come.
We’ve had three years to get used to the idea.
Still, a Band-aid pulled off slowly still stings at the end.
Our house sat perched at the end of a long, steep driveway, on nearly three acres of, shall we say, a challenging yard. The master bedroom was upstairs. Thirty years old, wood-sided, and roomy, its primary competition was new construction. We loved that house and took good care of her, but three years with no one in it full-time took a toll. It was still a great house, but it would take someone who looked skin deep to find all her beauty, a buyer who didn’t want a perfect and new home, but a perfect for us home.
After a fair number of showings but no offers, I decided people needed a little help seeing a home and not just a house.
I’ve fully explained this at The Art of Simple so I won’t go into it here, but I wanted to share a few pictures of my idea since they aren’t included with my post. (Do , it’s a good ‘un.)
There’s this great old song by Amy Grant that perfectly captures the power and beauty of reminiscing, of life with all its complexities, and how a house is an incredible vessel of stories and secrets and dreams. (She does a fair amount of reminiscing to begin; the song starts at the 2:12 mark.)
If These Walls Could Speak
~ Amy Grant
Of things that they remember well
Stories and faces dearly held
A couple in love livin’ week to week
Rooms full of laughter
If these walls could speak
If these old halls, hallowed halls could talk
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell
And children playing at hide and seek from floor to rafter
If these halls could speak
They would tell you that I’m sorry
For bein’ cold and blind and weak
They would tell you that it’s only
That I have a stubborn streak
If these walls could speak
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes
I guess they would have seen it all
Each little tear and sigh and footfall
And every dream that we came to seek or followed after
If these walls could speak
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay
Here’s someone who really loves you
Don’t ever go away
That’s what these walls would say
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay
Here’s someone who really loves you
Don’t ever go away
That’s what these walls would say
That’s what these walls would say
That’s what these walls would say
Although there were moments of reminiscent sadness, it sounds like you made it through the process remarkably well. The older we get, the more we realize how quickly the passing of time seems to happen. Especially when we look at where our children are and all they have accomplished… All the while remembering so vividly the day they entered the world, their first day of preschool, playing sports, playing with friends, preparing for high school… and everything in between. Leaving the home where so many of those wonderful moments in our children’s lives took place is just not an easy thing to do. The day each of our children were born, their lives became the biggest and most wonderful part of our lives. And it’s hard letting go. Letting go of pieces of our life together is like losing another piece of our children.
I remember what it was like to leave the last home I shared with all three of my children. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Selling things that once meant so much, taking boxes filled with fragments of wonderful memories to The Samaritan Center. Letting go of Danielle’s books, collections, clothes, purses… That was especially heart wrenching. But I couldn’t hold on to everything. I wanted to, as I so often place sentimental value on things… And unfortunately, I have the hoarder gene, handed down from generations of hoarders. But I know that holding on to everything can weigh you down and become overwhelming. So I chose what was most special to her… and what was most special to me. I got through it… and what I learned is that those material things, while special to me, were not what held the memories I treasure so much.
I hope this new chapter of your life is just as wonderful as the last. You’re a wonderful friend and mother to your children, so I’m sure it will be. I wish you much happiness, Robin.
Robin,
Such a beautiful looking house on a nice hilly landscape. Moving/ change of any kind is tough. Think of all the lovely new memories you can create in your new place.
Blessings 🙂
Prayers for you and your family as you begin a new chapter in your lives. I find that as I age time seems to be moving at a faster pace and memories just seem like a blur. Much happiness to you and your family!!
Blessings 🙂
I needed to read this today while still in the midst of a gut-wrenching move spanning the last two months… Over five weeks I’ve been sitting in a huge empty house with only two easy chairs, a TV (this week) & a bed… Over 350 miles from family & home & the rest of our “stuff.”
The move is actually great news after an eight-year run stuffed into a 35-ft RV we were forced into after the mortgage-meltdown of 2008 when we lost our jobs along with EVERYTHING else (three houses, plus contents & five cars) except our beloved pets…
This is the 3rd separate time, in our nearly 22 years on this journey together, we’ve had to completely start over. Mostly due to employer-downsizing requiring us to move back & forth all over the U.S. chasing said employment six different times–all very expensive–and wiping us out financially (including having to pay over one million dollars to my husband’s ex-wife during the first 10 years as we chased the money to keep up).
My husband is an attorney and can only be in private practice in CA, unless employed by a corporation, so we had to keep returning to CA between employers. And here we are again, moving hundreds of miles for another employer. At almost 60, my husband is nearly twice the age of everyone else at this Silicon Valley “There’s An App For That” company, learning to “UBER,” and work outside of a private office at a community conference table with two monitors (and a company-issued laptop that’s smaller than my iPad) in the middle of a “new-age-style,” open, non-private bullpen along with 180 other employees. …But I digress, that’s another story for a different day…
With this move, I have been weeping off & on for four months…
The past eight years were like living in a cocoon of sorts, and although, we felt safe, we were so crowded, limited, and somewhat overwhelmed trying to live with one bathroom, without a real kitchen, or an automatic dishwasher… We were limited to a 12-gallon water heater (mandating a 20-minute wait between showers or doing dishes or a small load of laundry in the RV-sized washer-dryer…), and very little closet space (that spilled out to sheds & storage units–that morphed into a small warehouse over time!). Horder… Yep, been called one for years.
Over those years we had to say good-bye to most of our beloved zoo… Only some of our little birds remain. I lost my diabetic 19-year-old sweet buff tabby cat, Chester, went to he Heaven last April 27th in the midst of packing, sorting, and traveling back & forth between Southern & Northern California to look for a new place to live… It was extremely difficult, and not the first loss of a cherished & beloved senior pet during a long-distance move.
I’ve been the most dependent on God during this time, after 41 years as a Christian, than any other time in my life because I can’t handle any of this on my own, and I truly don’t know what tomorrow holds for us & at this age… I’ve given up trying to make plans beyond three to seven days in advance.
I cry a little less these days, and we hope to have the move completed this month. Knowing someone else is going through the “keep, save, donate, toss” routine is very, very comforting…
Thank you for writing <3!
Thank you for the lovely idea. Do you mind sharing the verses you print out for the house? I think it’s a great idea and would love to put them on ours too.
I would have loved to read ALL of those little notes and see the rooms they were in — a FANTASTIC idea! Both closure for you, welcome for them and probably a great marketing boon to boot!