We drove away from our home for the last time on Wednesday night. I had lived there for over 11 years (five for Honey), so the tears flowed easily for both of us. It didn’t help matters that we were both dog-tired from having emptied the house and garage in just over 24 hours.
When I listed the house earlier this spring, I specifically requested 30 days from closing to get our belongings moved out. When our buyer made an offer and my realtor faxed the paperwork for me to sign, I didn’t read the fine print. Particularly, the part that said something about “immediate possession unless otherwise noted.” My realtor apparently didn’t read it either, because he was completely flabbergasted when I called him in hysterics Tuesday afternoon to tell him that the buyer had given us three days to get everything out. Long story short, we rallied the troops, worked our tails off, and I learned a valuable lesson about trusting someone else to manage the details.
Moving our furnishings into the new place has added a sense of familiarity and comfort, but I will admit to still feeling some regret about leaving the little house where Honey and I met for the first time, where I grew to love Mrs. J, and where I felt completely safe. Then I remember that despite all the wonderful memories that I have of the place, there are also many horrible ones that I would like to forget. Well, maybe not forget, but at least leave them in the past where they belong.
This new house is a fresh start; an opportunity for us to begin anew on this journey we call “life.” I’m just thankful that no matter where I lay my head at night, I can rest in the knowledge that the love we have for one another can make any house a home.