Posted by: mesabimisadventures | May 27, 2013

Saying Goodbye, Going Away

I was that kid.  You know the one, the kid whose parents were divorced (whisper whisper) and who had to live with her grandparents (gossip gossip) and who was probably a bad influence on your child (snark snark).  Every weekend, I’d pack my backpack and wait to get picked up by either my dad or my mom for a weekend at their respective house.  And then Sunday would come and I’d pack back up, inevitably forgetting something, and head back to my grandparents for another week.  As a child in the 80s in a small town, I didn’t have any friends in that situation.  I was surrounded by kids who all had nuclear families and one home.

Oh how I wanted one home.  One place where all of my stuff was and where I was completely settled, completely comfortable. 

In 2003, I decided I was fed up with living in apartments and having landlords so I purchased my first home in Southside Virginia.  My own home.  My own garage and my own kitchen and my own bedroom and my own bathroom and… well, you get the idea.  It was nothing fancy, but it was home and it felt amazing. 

The day I closed on it, I went over and stood outside and just kept touching it like it was something sparkly and magical.  “This is mine.  This is my home.  Mine mine mine” like a greedy leprechaun hugging his pot of gold.

It might as well have been a pot of gold.

It was a home. 

My own home.

But the time has come to sell it and move on so that Matt and I can move forward with building our own new home together.  I thought it would be simple – clean it up, put it on the market and be done.  But it’s been much tougher emotionally than I would have thought it would be. 

My mom and I were cleaning up the backyard and my mind was flooded with “oh man, these flowering plum and crabapple trees from the Soil and Water District were scrawny little sticks when I planted them 7 years ago” and “can you believe there used to be a house in this backyard?” and “I remember the summer I taught Upward Bound and spent my mornings working in this garden before I’d go to teach”.   All the hours spent laboring in the backyard and the emotions connected to that time period of my life were impossible not to think about. 

And inside the house, it hasn’t been any easier.  Memories of finally finishing my thesis in the bedroom I used as an office, remodeling the interior with my mom after I had moved out and laughing at the crazy 70s wallpaper that was under the paneling when we tore it down, and deciding to end a 5-year relationship sitting in the front porch watching a rain storm on the 4th of July.

I know it’s time to sell it.  Time to let someone else have it as their home, a place to let their dog into the backyard to run around, use the sauna on those bitter cold January nights, and develop their own set of memories. 

I need to move on and let go.  I’m probably too emotionally attached, but it was my first home.  And it WAS sparkly and magical.

It was my 20s.  It was Christmas trees and learning how to replace a thermostat and building a fence and landscaping and adopting two little balls of fur and starting new jobs and making new friends and becoming an adult.

It was home.

And that’s all I ever wanted.

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