I remember the day. A. Very. Tough. Day. I signed a purchase agreement to sell my parents’ house, my childhood home. There was an inspection which had some bumps. Mom and Dad chose to spend their money on travel and experiences rather than updates to the house. I don’t blame them and will always be grateful for the sense of adventure they instilled in me.
I wasn’t too worried about selling the house or the logistical details. I had a good realtor – a very good friend from high school. And, I had a good lawyer – a long-time friend of Dad’s. How Minnesotan of us? We only used people we’ve known since the glaciers melted.
I expected to be emotional when closing day came on the house, not when I signed the purchase agreement. But after leaving my realtor’s office, I fell apart. I grabbed my phone and called my BFF. Fortunately, she was stuck in DC traffic and able to talk. How she understood me through my sobs only comes from 30+ years of friendship.
There is the cliché of grief from selling the family home, but I didn’t feel overly attached to the house itself. I think my feelings were a mix of relief and grief. Relief that this major piece of the estate puzzle was nearly complete and grief that things didn’t work out the way I thought they might.
In 1960, an immigrant German couple looking to start fresh having survived WWII purchased their home. In 1961, another couple, Frank and Marlene (my parents) purchased their home, next door to this young German couple. About ten years their senior, the German immigrants soon became friends and family to the young couple next door.
The neighbors had three daughters. Frank and Marlene had four children. The husband passed away in the late 1980s and the wife passed away in the mid-1990s. Today, their youngest daughter lives in the home with her two daughters and son-in-law. Marlene soon became a mentor and friend to her mentor’s daughter, and when Marlene died, the daughter and her kids helped out Frank – plowing his driveway, mowing his lawn, and minor home repairs. In exchange, Frank let the son-in-law park his truck in the spare spot in the driveway.
After Frank died, the neighbor’s wanted – no insisted – on maintaining the yard and helping out, without compensation. “That is what neighbors do,” they told me. I tell you these details so you can get a flavor for how intertwined our two families have been. So when neighbor’s daughter and husband said they wanted to buy the house, you understand how difficult it was for me to not accept their offer.
It would have been an easy solution to a significant stress factor in my life recently – and poetic in a way. But, longer story short, their offer was significantly less than another offer on the table. As the personal representative for the estate, I had to put on my business hat and do what was best for the estate.
I know I absolutely made the right decision, but it didn’t make it easier. I mean, shit my sister is named after the neighbor’s oldest daughter. I took German because of their influence in my life and oldest granddaughter was one of my childhood friends. Not to mention the kindness and care they showed my Dad after Mom died.
Life calls on us to sometimes make a rational decision when we want nothing more than to be irrational. The challenge for each of us to find the balance. For there is a time to allow our feelings to enter in, and direct our decisions. And, there are times when we need to trust in our mind and allow the heart to heal.
So, yes, there was grief from my selling my childhood home. And relief to know that in less than a week on the market I had 5 offers and was able to sign one that was higher than the list price. I knew in time all would be well. But it was still a very tough day. A. Very. Tough. Day.