June 11, 2016
My old house finally, officially sold. It has been my responsibility and my gain in the divvying up of the old life that was mine. Ours. Gone are the expenses and worry and the albatross and the moving of this and that. Whew.
I was surprised at my melancholy the day before the haunted mansion finally sold. I have been exuberant at its departure from my life, as I have been genuinely thrilled at the new oxygen I breathe every day.
What I learned in the hours between my last stop at the house and my official, legal goodbye is that no matter how tainted, icky, painful is the scene of the crime, it is still a scene. It was lived, and it is woven into the fabric of life. The life may have unraveled a bit, but the memory is tightly stitched.
We don't live in a vacuum. There are good memories peppered in with malaise and grave unhappiness. I suppose as I wandered through the rooms of that house filled with suffocation and sadness long since gone it was the laughter and smiles and happy and precious times with my babies who aren't babies that washed over me. It was bound to happen eventually.
When yesterday I signed those final papers and sighed a sigh of relief the size of my new-found happiness, I was exuberant indeed. I wouldn't have felt the joy were it not for the preceding heartbreak.
Yesterday was a biggie, and it wasn't. Today is big, though. Full of oxygen. Freedom. Joy. Hope. New memories to be made.
And only one house payment.
Praise the Lord!
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