Saying goodbye is hard to do

Today I said goodbye to my childhood home. Well, actually, not only my childhood home, but the home where my parents lived until my father passed away in July 2008. It's been a struggle trying to sell it. Not only has the economy been uncooperative, but the house has been vacant since my father's death and has been in a state of slow and steady deterioration. We attempted, unsuccessfully, a public auction last spring. But no luck.

About 6 weeks ago, someone approached one of my sisters and expressed an interest in buying the property. We were elated! We could finally unload it. Little did I realize the effect the final sale would have on me until I received an email this evening from a former neighbor and childhood friend. Kori and I are in touch regularly via Facebook and whenever I'm back in the area, I try to catch up with her in some way. She wrote that she and her son were taking a walk past my parents' house when she saw someone moving in. A plethora of memories came rushing back to her and made her sad. She recalled games we played as children, how my mother would make a huge fuss over her sons at Halloween.

This, in turn, caused me to become nostalgic and sad. How did I manage to get through the day with just a fleeting thought of the house? Somehow I pushed it as far out of my mind as I could. But Kori's email, thankfully, forced me to step back and examine how I was feeling. A part of me understands that we had no choice but to sell the house. But another part of me wishes we could have kept it. Forever. I know that's impractical and irrational, but I have so many memories there.

But that's exactly what they are...memories. And I'll always have them no matter who lives in the house.