Leave a Light on for Yourself

My mother is selling her house!

The address is the second longest I’ve ever had.

We moved quite a bit when I was younger. The abovementioned dwelling was my sixth. I lived there for 16 years.

My mom has been there for almost 43 years. She and my father purchased it and decided they would stay planted in this space; let some roots anchor.

An extensive root system helps hold soil in place so it is less likely to be eroded by wind or rain. They wanted to facilitate this function so my brother and I could benefit from the foundation.

They had found their permanent habitat.

Well, his at least.

My dad passed away last July and always vowed he would “die in this house.” He was correct – he passed during a luminous summer afternoon, in his abode. There is much more to write and, (as the cool kids say), “unpack” regarding the tale of “Popi,” but this space is for a special story about a gracious woman who is leaving her lengthiest residence, and doing so with precision, passion, and pride.

Moving is an anxious undertaking. It requires you to be diligent, resilient, and remarkably strong when enduring the nostalgia that is around every corner. Memories, at best, provide the sustenance we require to nourish present situations, throughout our journey. They embrace and wrap us tightly, allowing us to land without breaking. They remind us of the continual spirit we possess and employ, to quell the doubting demons.

In addition to addressing the infinite items that are permanently part of the ‘yet to pack list,’ is our final encounter before departing a domicile — the history within its walls. The ramparts resonate with laughter from faded holidays, with tears from familial foibles, and with the first footstep touching down the day you entered your new home, so many years and hopes ago; gratefully, that echo reverberates eternally.

Walking through the place I spent the majority of my formative years in was unpredictably pleasant the other day. It was a task mom had been requesting for some time. One which required minimal effort and certainly one I owed her. I assumed there would be endless bins to go through, redundant recollections, and more of the overall heaviness which has been omnipresent the past 12 months. Instead, as we strolled through these familiar rooms – which were now glistening with fresh paint and radiant light fixtures – I realized an altered haven had been crafted through true labors of love.

My mother’s resolve to transform before she proceeded was a testament to the home she had created. All the fluffy scrambled eggs, games of Yahtzee, molehills turned into mountains, merriment, heartache, endless televised sporting events, calms before and after storms, delightful declarations, all the things that sculpted our narrative would forever remain within this structure – thanks to mom.

DID YOU KNOW? There are currently 1,532,382 residential homes for sale in the United States.