Today was the day we signed all of the papers to make the sale of our old house official. I didn’t mention anything about it here because I became weirdly and adamantly superstitious about it over the past 30 days. I was convinced that if I wrote that we had sold our house that a tree would fall on it or something.
Happily, the only tree that fell on our property during the closing period was a giant tree limb that fell on our driveway, thankfully missing our house by quite a distance.
I thought that I would walk out of the title company office this afternoon feeling ecstatic. I was sure that I would be delighted that I could cross one more thing off my list, especially considering that this one thing involved paying a second mortgage every month.
Instead, what I felt was bittersweet.
I’m going to miss that house.
A lot happened in that house.
Quinn was born when we lived in that house. We became a family of five there. We learned about autism and neurodiversity there. I became a blogger there. Alex and I lived two-thirds of our married life there. My kids grew from even smaller than this…
…to what they are today.
Even though Sam and Jack have lived in other houses, they don’t remember them. My kids have lived their entire conscious existence in that house. They grew into young men in that house.
I’m excited for what is to come and I can’t wait to see how my family changes in our new house. I’m happy that another young family gets to find their own way in the house we sold today. But part of me will very much miss the house we called home for so long.