I sold my house in a day. I listed it on Thursday and within 12 hours I accepted an almost full-price offer. I should be happy. I should be ecstatic. But I only had tears when I read the contract. I balled at the conditions of the sale—which in addition to the appliances they want, included the “living room tv set.”
They don’t know that big tv was the last thing my husband bought. They don’t know that months ago he joked with his friends, saying, “if I’m dying, I’m going to at least buy a big ass tv and enjoy it until then.”
Cancer may have taken his strength, his hair, his ability to play with his kids, his freedoms, but it couldn’t take his sense of humor or courage in the face of death.
We are leaving a house we spent five years in —raising kids and babies, laughing with friends, falling off bikes, crying, singing, making messes and living life. Until we didn’t anymore.
The kids and I begin our fresh start next month at the new house. We will make new memories. We will bring cookies to our new neighbors. We will smile and invite friends to pool parties and laugh again— I hope.
We can hopefully leave a little bit of our heartache behind. We don’t want to bring the pain with us. We don’t want to drag the hurt.