how to leave home
We’re done here. House clean and empty, escrow closed, done deal. I am officially living in an adorable apartment with a friend, and actually doing some UNpacking, at least for a while. Here are some tips.
DON’T have an emergency the final week of closing.
Poor stepdad has a lot of things wrong with him right now. He’s doing better than he was when this picture was snapped.
DO find loved ones to take the most precious objects.
A & J and the ship my stepdad built. It’s called the Maggie, after my mom. Easier to let go into the hands of friends.
DON’T feel bad about giving it the ol’ college try.
Tried to sell my family’s furniture, but on the whole did not succeed. Maybe someone at Habitat for Humanity will see this stuff and fall in love.
DO make things easier on the new owners.
Phone books, more important than you think if you don’t have your internet set up yet. Appliance manuals for LITERALLY every appliance in the house, compiled by my supremely organized late mom.
Label your paint and leave it for the owners.
DON’T dwell on pictures like these.
Instant PTSD when I look at that. Getting a grip on the nightmare garage was the subject of my sister’s “what I did on my summer non-vacation” essay.
Seriously, stop dwelling on the seemingly neverending backbreaking work you sacrificed your summer for.
Don’t try to imagine a spacious 3-bedroom home with every single drawer and cabinet and closet packed full of STUFF. Don’t. Think of your vacation instead:
DO pat yourself on the back.
The final chapter of this saga comes with some surprises and disappointments, but that doesn’t take away from all the good work that got done by Annie, Peter, Sam, Neal, Jeremy, Ethan, Judy, Jeanie, Lori, and countless others. And the discovery of my mad skills as a stager are not to be underestimated. Pat pat pat!
DO take a breather.
This is where I am, right now! Sun-flooded kitchen, cup of coffee.
DO reflect on things, if that helps.
Leave key, walk out door. Such an anticlimax to selling a house! I didn’t feel wistful or weird — that came with disconnecting the phone number my mom had for 35 years. This is the last home of my mom, the possessions within were the last of her items, now forever scattered to all corners of the family. The door closed on something important — not slammed, but softly, with a final, but friendly, click.
Bravo, my good pal, bravo! Well done.