Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Driving past the old house

One of the ways to get to the new house from work involved going past our old neighborhood. And, of course, the day we closed on the old house, I just had to take that way home. I knew it was stupid. I new that the buyers were moving in that day... but I still did it. I didn't drive into the neighborhood, but from the road, as I drove by, I could see all the outside lights on at what used to be my house.

And I lost it.

I sobbed the rest of the way home. Someone else was living in my house. MY HOUSE. People who wouldn't care that we had spent our wedding night there. Brought home our little dog when she was only about 3 pounds. They wouldn't care that they were in the house where I found out about both our babies. The house where we brought our first baby home and spent more than 9 months in a state of zombie exhaustion. They wouldn't care how carefully we had selected paint colors or that the nail holes in the living room are crooked because I clearly can't see in a straight line. The wouldn't appreciate the time and love that went into remodeling each room over the last five years and making it a home.

Worse, they're probably going to change things. Maybe even big things. In order to make it their home. And that just breaks my heart.

I know it shouldn't. We've moved on. We have a bigger house, in a great neighborhood, that is a better fit for our soon-to-be family of four. I'm happy with this house, and I know it's going to be a better home than the old house ever was... but there's a part of me that is mourning the loss of our old home.

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