“A seven-year-old to a neighbor after the boy’s house burned down, “Oh, that was not our home. That was our house. We still have our home. We just don’t have a place to put it right now.”— Gene R. Cook
Two weeks ago, my husband, John, and I moved out of our house – the house we lived in happily (well, mostly) for 28 years. It is so overwhelming to think about, that, well, I just don’t think about it.
It helps to not dwell on the loss of your home when you are busy. Has anyone ever told you how much work it is to move? It is ridiculous. The boxes, the packing, the sorting, the culling, the decisions, the cleaning. The money. All of a sudden, your house is empty. In the end, it is still your house, but it is, well, empty. As John said after walking through the house one last time, “It has lost its soul.” Indeed, the rugs once filled with Legos, the chair where I spent four months on bedrest awaiting the birth of our son, the couch where we spent countless hours watching “Barney” (ugh) are gone. The rooms are bare, waiting to be filled with someone else’s stuff. Someone else’s opportunities for memories.
To be honest, another obstacle to a satisfying good bye were the buyers, who made the selling so unpleasant. Instead of a smile and a handshake, they made everything a battle to be won. It was really painful, but in some ways, it made leaving the house easier – we just wanted it to be done.
So, now we are living in a 600 square foot Airbnb, (a true test of a marriage if there ever was one), waiting for the construction of our new house, our new home, to be done. And since we are here for 6 weeks, we now have time to grieve.
Truth be told, there are times when I just want to go home. I want to curl up on the recliner in front of the fireplace and read the newspaper. I want to take a nap on the well-worn couch. I want to sit at a not-too-small kitchen table and work on the crossword puzzle. But, of course, someone else is doing that right now. In my house. My former house.
But as they say, “A house is not a home”. A home needs people. Family. A dog. A cat. Laughter and tears. A house is memories, and as a good friend said to me, “The memories made will travel with you.” As the Gershwins wrote in their song of the same name: “They can’t take that away from me”.
So, this week’s JOY: home. Knowing my home is where my heart is, and where memories can be built. And they can’t take that away from me.