Selling the house is not something I want to do. It’s not something I don’t want to do either. I want to sell it because I don’t want that responsibility anymore. My sister and I kept the house after both of our parents died, and we’ve tried renting it. The only thing I’ve learned from that experience is that I’m a terrible manager, and I never want to do that again. That is why I want to sell the house.
But selling the house is also not something I want to do. It’s not going to be a big deal. I can make a list of what needs to be done and check off each task as it is accomplished. It’s no big deal; it’s just some time and legwork.
The physical part of letting go of the house is not an issue, but the emotional part is a big issue. I didn’t grow up in that house and only lived there a few years, so letting go of a home I never planned to live in or rent again is a big weight off my shoulders.
My connection with the house is an emotional one, connected to my memories. It was the last place I had a meaningful conversation with my mother around the kitchen table; the last place she sat at the piano playing “March of the Wee Folks,” entertaining us with the only piece of music she knew from memory. It’s the last place I sat under the carport with my father, watching the world go by; the last place we quietly worked our crossword puzzles individually together and laughed at the antics of the characters in Mayberry. As I said, my connections are emotional and tied to my memories. And I’m learning that it’s a much stronger connection than I thought.
For my memories, I am so very thankful. My memories are a source of comfort, and they make me smile. I’ve had many years to hold those memories closely and enjoy the stories attached to each of them. I also know that not all my memories are warm and fuzzy. With the more difficult memories, I have had time to come to terms with them. Having done the needed work, I have them in a place where the sting isn’t so painful, and I’m learning to look for the lessons in them.
And one more word about the selling of the house. It’s still something I want to do, something that needs to and will be done. When the house is no longer ours, the sale of the house is still a loss for me. Loss is a central part of life. To be alive is to know loss. Sometimes, a loss is difficult. Always, loss allows us to make new discoveries. Grief is the gift that will enable me to find fresh meaning and joy in my new discoveries.
Thank you for reading about my experience. Maybe you’ve found something helpful, maybe not. Maybe it’s just good to know that grief happens to all of us, that we all grieve in our own ways, and that it’s always a part of us. Grief connects us all in ways that matter, in ways that let us know that we are not alone. For that, I am grateful. I am not alone. And neither are you.
Here at Hospice and Community Care, you matter to us. We want to support you in your grief journey. We offer calls to check on you and groups where you can be a part of individual conversations if you desire. Let us hear from you!
Lee Ann Livingston
Spiritual Care Provider
The Hospice & Community Care team has a number of resources available for helping families walk through grief and loss.
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