Tonight is my last night in the home I’ve lived in for the last 14 years. I moved into it with a husband and a six month old, me at home with the kids full-time and I leave as a divorced single working mother of two teenagers.
This house has seen a lot. My silent witness. I’ve had times so terrible that I have looked at the walls, the furniture, the lighting in the room and thought that this house could never be a place that I could feel joy again. But, time and time again, my house proved me wrong. Joy followed sorrow, and then sorrow followed joy. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I am grateful to this house for having been a happy gathering place, both for myself and my children. It’s door has been open and welcoming to many. My porch has set the scene for many a languid evening with a glass of wine, me watching the world go by.
It’s been also a great comfort to me. When my marriage ended, it became my sanctuary. It’s funny that even when things were good between ex-h and I, it never felt like our house- but nor was it fully mine alone. The first night he left, I was giddy with relief, and I cleaned and purged and reorganized into the wee hours, finally so happy to be able to breathe and make my environment mine, and no longer a place of conflict.
We move on though to new adventures. Blending families will be a challenge, no doubt. So many have done it, yet there are no owners manuals, no how-to’s or best practices.
Farewell, old house, my trusted companion– I’ll miss you and be forever grateful.