Good-bye House

I took a sick day today. I don't have a temperature or a cough, but I didn't sleep well last night and my emotional well-being is pretty fragile. So here I am. At home. Looking around the almost-empty rooms. Grieving the end of 16 years in a place where we laughed and cried and fought and played. A place where love flowed through the rooms and out the doors onto the porch and patio.

Where teenagers gathered round the table to eat quesadillas at 11pm or smoke cigars and drink wine around the chiminea on the old brick patio. Where friends and family joined us to make hundreds of cookies, the children trying to outdo each other with the most outrageous icinged offering. Where we played scrabble and spades in front of the fireplace, eating popcorn or homemade cookies. Where people ate hamburgers and hotdogs at graduation parties, or finer foods at Jubilee's famous backyard dinner parties.

Where a colorful garden of bee balm, daisies, cone flowers and bright yellow yarrow, complemented by the addition of annuals carefully selected by my daughters at the greenhouse, brightened our small backyard. Where the children hung out in the kitchen while I made breakfast, and then sat with me around our table to eat and talk and talk.

A prospective buyer noted that the woodwork needs to be painted; it does. But I remember all the painting that we did. The dining room, where we thought we were so creative painting one solid wall a different color. April's room in two different colors of her choosing. I hired someone to paint the deep red walls in Jubilee's room, not wanting to leave it two-toned or streaked. Maybe the next person will see past the chipping woodwork to the possibility and the joy of making it their own.

Hard times came and went and lingered within these walls. Sickness and suffering of a different sort brought family and friends into our lives with empathy and shared tears and embrace. Words of comfort and encouragement entered our conversations, and our hearts were broken and mended and stretched and sometimes broken again. Children left and came back and left again. The times of return always bringing joy to my heart, with pride in their accomplishments and youthful wisdom.

So many people passed through our doors, slept in our beds and ate at our table. We were blessed to have best friends live next door for ten years, forming a mini community that included taking down the fence between our back yards, and shared meals of mac and cheese and sloppy joes or pasta dishes and wonderful salads. Family from the south came, sometimes unannounced (to me at least), and we ate collard greens and potato salad and sweet corn. Friends came and visited and we reminisced and laughed and cried together.

So here's my desire for people who walk through our house as prospective buyers. May they feel the warmth and love that permeated these floors and walls. May they hear echoes of the laughter and conversations that are part of its fabric. May they sense the hearts of love that offered invitation to everyone and provided comfort and respite on shabby couches and chairs. May they see beyond the necessary cosmetic fixes to the character and solid foundation, where they can begin or continue their own stories in a wonderful place.