My house (my home) is sold. After 17 days on the market.
People say "congratulations". "How exciting." "Oh my gosh, in this market?". "You must be thrilled!".
I smile. I nod. I say "thank you". I cry late at night.
I walk through the rooms and halls and remember. Or try to remember. The kidadults are upset. This is their childhood home. This is our past. Our history. Their height markers are still on the doorjambs of their bedroom closet doors. How tall they have become. How small they once were.
How alone a new house will be. No nicks, no height markers. No memories. Everything will be in place. No dirty little hand prints. No damp towels on the floor. No laundry piled up in corners. All the things that drove me crazy...
So. The house (my home) is sold.
The hundreds of daffodils and tulips that bloom today in my gardens, that took years to plant and propagate, will bloom next year for a new family.
The fish in the pond will rely on someone else to feed them.
The grass will grow. Mowed by a new gardener.
My house (my home ) is sold. My only wish for the new owners is that they find at least half of the happiness and love I had here. That will be enough.