All the months of purging and packing are finally nearing an end. After 7 days on the market, 22 showings and 4 offers, our house is under contract. In just a few weeks, we will close our front door one last time and turn the page to the next chapter of life.
Selling our home seemed like a practical decision after our daughter moved out on her own. We no longer needed the big house or its hefty taxes and mortgage payments. The booming DC housing market made the decision that much easier, at least from a financial perspective. My heart has been saying otherwise.
Our house hasn’t felt like a home for a while now. In preparation for sale, we removed all photos and décor, curtains and rugs — basically everything that gave personality to the place we’ve called home for nearly 24 years. The rooms, freshly painted in neutral shades of beige and grey, now echo with an uncomfortable silence. Even our beloved kitty, Gipper, has been temporarily relocated during our move. We are missing him terribly, and look forward to being reunited soon.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” I said to my husband last night, “but I can’t bear the thought of leaving.”
So here we are . . . counting down the days to goodbye.
But as sad as I am some days, I know somewhere, a new family is packing up their treasures and excitedly preparing for their move. These rooms will be filled with laughter, the walls covered in family photographs, and the empty windows will have curtains once again.
And one day soon, we will be seeking our next home — hopefully with warm Gulf breezes and a view of palm trees from the lanai.