On Wednesday, I finally moved the rest of our belongings out of our old house. The house has been under contract since the end of August, but the closing has been delayed and, thus, I could procrastinate moving the last of our belongings.
I don’t know why I procrastinated so long getting the last of our stuff out of the house. Honestly – all I had to get out of there were some curtains and some framed pictures. That’s it. Not much at all. It took me all of about an hour to move it all out and put it in the car.
Yet, for some reason, I had a mental block about getting the last of our stuff out of this house. I couldn’t figure out why. I told Dear Husband that it felt creepy, but that wasn’t exactly it. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
A friend suggested two possible reasons: (1) I don’t want to say goodbye to the house; or (2) I’ve already said goodbye and I don’t want to go back.
It wasn’t #1. I had already bid farewell to the house, I felt, and I was fine with it. I know that this house, our new-to-us house – is such a better fit for us, for many reasons. I love our new house, and know that moving was the right decision.
So that leaves #2. I’m pretty sure that’s it. I think I’ve said goodbye already and moved on. It didn’t feel like my house anymore. Well, except for the kitchen.
That kitchen was ME. I designed it. Every part of it. What each drawer was for. The recycled glass countertop. The best pantry the world has ever seen. The shades I made. It was me, in a room.
And that’s when I cried. That’s when I knew why I didn’t want to go back in the old house. Because it was me. I changed or designed or painted every room in that house at least once. It was where I got the confidence to design rooms, DIY, tear out crappy cabinets, unclog toilets.
Not to be too overdramatic here, but it was at this point that it started raining. I’m not kidding. Like a bad romantic comedy. I half expected Meg Ryan to show up.
Anyway, I said my official last goodbye to the house. I thanked it for protecting us for 11 years. And then I left. And it stopped raining.
And then I went home.
*With apologies to the Barenaked Ladies.
A "recovering lawyer," I turned in my power suits for power tools and a life of DIY. I believe in merging old and new to make a house a home.
I know that feeling, Karen! It becomes a part of you and you think you are OK letting it go. Then you have to go back for some reason and it floods you with memories. At least you have them memories and you will be creating bigger and better things in your new home. It’s a new chapter…embrace it!!
Denyse
Yes – exactly! Thank you so much for your sweet comment, Denyse!
I don’t easily become attached … to people, places OR houses. But once I do, it develops into a very emotional thing. A move from our home of 20+ years hit both extremes of the spectrum. It had been such a wonderful family home, but building a new house was exciting too. Funny thing though, we only spent 4 years in that house and then moved to a new, smaller place. Odd that the first and last places were both ramblers and “homes”, while the middle abode was, well … just a house. Places definitely have “feelings” don’t they?
They do. I think you really captured the conflicting feelings – excitement for a new home, but nostalgia and memories in the old. Thank you!
My husband and I have built two homes in the past 25 years. The first home we built was our family home. It was where our two girls grew up, and that was the home they left when they married. It was the home where our three grandchildren first visited us. That home was hard to leave, but the home we lived in for the first five years of our marriage was the most difficult to leave. It was the place I called home from the age of six until age 19. It was the home I went back to when I needed comforting. It was the home that had a hole in the kitchen wall that my two brothers and I hid from our parents for 20 years. It was the home where my oldest daughter first visited Ma-maw and Pa-paw. After being away from it for 10 years, a divorce and a new husband, my new family and I called it our first home. we welcomed a new addition to our family to that home. About a year after we moved, I went back to visit one of our neighbors. She told me of the changes that had been made to “our” home and wanted to take me to see it. I told her that I didn’t want to see it, that it would be too hard to see someone else’s belongings in the home where I grew up and that held so many memories for me. I know this was a long reply, but reading your post brought back those memories. Just move ahead and make this new house your home.
Linda, Thank you for sharing that! What a wonderful story. I totally get not wanting to go in once someone else had been there – that’s exactly how I felt, too. What wonderful memories you have of these homes, though. Thank you again for sharing – I loved it!