Yesterday, I signed the closing papers to sell our family home.
It’s a sentence that feels simple on the surface, but carries the weight of nearly two decades of life, love, and memories. We built that home in the summer of 2006, when the boys were just 1 and 2 years old. It’s the only home they’ve ever known. And for 19 years, it was more than just a house—it was our sanctuary, our storybook, our safe place.
Within those walls, we lived a lifetime. First steps were taken across those hardwood floors. Birthday candles were blown out in that kitchen. Bedtime stories were read in cozy corners. Laughter echoed through the hallways, and tears were quietly wiped away in the quiet of night. That home held us through every season—through growth, through change, through heartbreak and healing.
It served us well. And it will be missed.
Letting go of it feels like closing a chapter in a book I wasn’t quite ready to finish. There’s a bittersweetness to it—a tug-of-war between nostalgia and hope. I find myself walking through memories as if they were rooms, lingering in each one before gently turning off the light.
But even as I grieve the goodbye, I feel a quiet excitement for what lies ahead. Our new home is waiting—not just as a structure, but as a canvas for new beginnings. It’s a place where we’ll continue to grow, to love, to live. A place where we’ll write the next chapter of our story.
I know it will be a good place for us. I believe that. But transitions like this are never just logistical—they’re emotional. They ask us to honor the past while making space for the future. And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.
So here’s to the home that raised us. And here’s to the one that will carry us forward.
One response
Beautifully written. “I find myself walking through memories as if they were rooms, lingering in each one before gently turning off the light.” moved me to tears.