I seem to have had quite the assortment of emotions since we put our house on the market six weeks ago. I'm excited for our new adventure, terrified for the same reason, frustrated that the amount of showings is something that I can count on one hand, sad to be leaving, happy for a change, and the list goes on.
I've only ever sold one other house in my short life, and that was my parents' house. Although that was quite a different experience, the feelings and emotions were quite similar.
I was 22 at the time that my Dad passed away.
I didn't put my parents' house up for sale for a year and a half after his passing.
Six months before I put the house on the market, I was told that someone - unbeknownst to them - had said, "I just don't understand why she hasn't sold that house yet." And this wasn't said in the kindest of ways.
I never confronted the person about what they said about me - behind my back - as I'm not interested in confrontation. But what I would have said, and still would say, is this.
I was 22, a newlywed, in the first months of my first year of teaching, and dealing with the death of my Dad.
During my plan time at school every day, I was sitting on hold with the energy company, water company, credit card companies, electric, student loan, banks, etc. for months figuring out how to go about dealing with my Dad's affairs. I was making trips to the lawyer at least twice a week for months. I was grieving the loss of my Dad, and my Mom two years prior, and attempting to continue on my with every day life and responsibilities.
Of course I wasn't selling my parents' house.
That house was all that I had left of them. It was the last place that I saw and hugged my Dad. It was where I grew up for 19 years. All of my memories are from that house - that yard. How on earth could I let that go so easily? It was all I had left of my childhood. It was all I had left of what had left me.
So, no. I didn't put my parents' house on the market for a year and a half after my Dad passed away. So sue me. It wasn't hurting you. I was the one taking care of it. I (okay, Ryan) was the one who packed up that entire house - by himself - and I was the one who kept everything in my house. I was the one who drove by that house multiple times a week to check the mail, and to make sure nothing was disturbed. I was the one who checked in with the neighbors who were keeping an eye on the house. I was the one who needed that extra time with the place that was home to me for all but three years of my life.
The point is, a house is a materialistic item, yes. But a home is not. A home is where memories are made. And that's why I had so much trouble letting go of my parents' home. And that's why I have so many emotions about selling this house.
Because it isn't about the house.
It's about walking through my home and remembering the day that we brought home Dean for the first time. Or when we painted the kitchen at night - just to get it done. Or when I told Ryan I was pregnant.
It's about the memories that lie within this materialistic place, that really isn't materialistic at all.
And as we're waiting to sell our house, I'm not eager. In fact, I'm okay with how "long" it may be taking - even if I don't act like it. Because that's more time that I'm able to walk through my house and remember, laugh, and smile about everything that we have created within these walls.
So here's to reminding myself to be patient. Because everything happens for a reason, and the selling of our house will happen at the right time. Here's to the memories that we continue to create, and to those memories that I will carry with me no matter which house we live in. Because I may not be able to take our house with us to North Carolina, but I will surely be able to take my home.
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