Home. The very word can conjure up so many things.
It can refer to the place in which we grew up. We can think of it as a place where we go to relax and just be ourselves. Sometimes we think of certain people...or certain places...that make us feel comfortable. And we refer to those places as home.
The only home I have ever owned is in Denver, CO. I have lived in this home for nearly 25 years.
I have never been the type to become too attached to material things. There are very few "material" things that I cling to or find comfort in. My 2007 Mitsubishi Eclipse is one of the few things I can touch that I adore.
For me, making memories is what's more important and what I become attached to.
Even so, I always knew that moving from my current home would be emotional for me. Like I said, it's the only home I have ever owned. I have gone through so much in this house. This is where I started my marital relationship that ended after 20 years. My three children were raised here; it is the only home they have ever known.
I have recovered from surgeries here. And broken hearts here. I have loved and I have lost. I have had countless friends over here. We have laughed and cried and drank lots of wine. So many memories have been made here, both good and bad. There is literally a household full of memories around every corner here. It will be hard to say goodbye.
Today we met with our realtor for the first time. I instantly liked him. I was anxious to meet him, nervous about what he would say about the house, thinking he would tell me I needed to fix that and this and that. But instead he made me feel at ease from the get-go. He guided me through the process we would need to go through, broke it down into easy steps. OK, I thought, I can do this. This is totally doable. He made me feel at peace...and I started to get excited.
One of the things he said we needed to do was start boxing things up so that the house would look less cluttered. He said, as far as clutter was concerned, I had very little of it. That made me feel good.
As soon as he left, I started taking things off of walls that I knew I didn't want and certainly didn't need. I began to put pictures and trinkets into boxes. I had a purpose and I was going to sure as heck succeed at it!
The house looked better all of a sudden, I thought. Less lived in, less personal. With all those pictures gone and no little trinkets, it looked more and more like a show-home, like a home that others may want to buy. I was happy about that before we left the house for the night. But when we returned? I felt a little melancholy, became a bit teary-eyed, as I looked at the sparse walls and the boxes.
I am 52 years old and I have lived in this house for almost 25 years. That is nearly half of my life and WAY longer than I have ever lived anywhere else. It's going to take some time to sort through all of this. And you know what? That's ok. I deserve time and I deserve to feel what I feel. It's part of the process.
Leaving Home
