“By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding, it is made firm; through knowledge its rooms are filled with every precious and pleasing possession” — Proverbs 24:3-4

I surprised myself with what occupied my mind those last few days of packing. It seemed an endless job to clean out and pack up thirty-seven years of stuff all accumulated inside a 2,500 square foot house. My thoughts during those stress-filled weeks were comprised mostly of questions: Why did I keep all this junk? What do I do with it now? I wonder if the new owners would mind if I left some of it?

We pondered the idea of moving for a few years. Both our daughters, Laura and Robin, had relocated out of the state. We were growing tired of the endless chores of an older home surrounded by several acres of land. The harsh winters and the daily upkeep were taking a toll on our no-longer-young physiques. Above all, the dramatic “hellos” and “goodbyes” to accompany a life of adult children who live far away became more difficult each year. My personal calendar documented travel itineraries as I lived from one visit to the next. However, even with the wonder of modern transportation, it was not possible for the four of us to be together all that often. I spent many birthdays, holidays and other celebrations with just my husband, the cat, and too many candles. This was not how I envisioned our retirement years, and I was not happy about it.

In June, 2018, Ted and I were enjoying Father’s Day with Robin and John at their home in Raleigh, North Carolina. We always enjoyed our time there, and somehow during the course of that particular visit, a “moving” conversation was initiated. “What are we waiting for?” And so it began — an intense search for a new home, the eventual purchase, the tag sale, the donations, the packing, the movers, the new doctors, etc. We saved the most challenging job for last — selling our beloved Connecticut home.

I thought it would be more difficult, emotionally that is, to leave our home. After all, we moved in there a year before our first baby was born and did not move out until after our youngest child was married. The walls of our country home were witness to my girls’ first steps, first words, and first smiles. Our family’s story felt deeply embedded within the cracks and crevices of the rustic floor.

The staircase carpet wore thin from the thousands of footfalls as the girls gleefully raced to see what was under the Christmas tree, hurried to greet a new boyfriend, or rushed to catch the school bus. Under that roof were multiple prom dresses, countless birthday cakes, dozens of Halloween costumes, and one stunning bridal gown. Our daughters called no other place “home” from birth to independence, and for most of those years, the thought of leaving it never crossed my mind.

As the house is a little off the beaten path, it was not an easy home to sell. It’s meant for specific dwellers, those who like the woods and who do not mind the creaks and wear of a loved and weathered home. After several months on the market, finally the right couple found their way to this cozy cape on the hill, where the deer regularly roam the front yard, the wild turkeys enjoy a right-of-way between neighbors, and a family of cardinals make their home in the huge rhododendron bush in the backyard.

We had already moved to North Carolina by the time the house sold. Except for the expense of keeping up two homes, I rarely thought about that house. We comfortably eased into southern living. We love the weather, the pace, the culture, and most especially, living closer to our daughters.

Before the closing, we needed to make one more trip up north to remove the last few items still stored there, and also to spruce it up a bit for the final walk through by the buyers. An empty house can become quite stale after several months of just sitting.

“Record the Squeaks,” Robin said as we prepared for our trip.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Through this whole transition, though she hadn’t lived in the house for a few years, Robin was more melancholy about letting go of her childhood home than was her sister.

“My bedroom door has a unique squeak,” she explained. It’s a sound she heard every day, but I don’t recall her ever mentioning it before. I smiled as I thought about my own memories of the house I grew up in. Some of the sights and sounds of that house still resonate within me and, at times, trigger unexpected memories.

As expected, the empty house felt stale and a little lonely. We brought a mattress with us. We thought it would be fun to sleep on the floor as we did the first night we moved there almost four decades ago. Though my memory isn’t always the best, sleeping on the floor did not have the charm I remember it haviing back then. I don’t recall it being as difficult getting up and down! Nevertheless, we did it.

It was this final time in our country home when the memories and the emotions began to flow. With sponges, mops, rags and cleaners, I attacked every room with pine and floral scents. Each swipe of the sponge brought forth sights and sounds of the past. I heard Laura practicing her flute, and I saw Robin coloring at the kitchen table. I remembered pizza nights, reading stories, and the snow gently falling out the window. In my mind’s eye, I watched a movie trailer of our life.

I tried to keep it together and maintain some perspective. These memories are in my head, not in the house. They are going with me. This is just another natural step in life, and it’s a good one.

In the midst of swallowing the lump in my throat, I looked behind the bathroom door. It was then when my locked-up emotions found an escape as a flood of tears began to flow. Many years ago, Ted installed hooks on the back of the door for our bathrobes. One hook was up high for Mom and Dad and one down low for little girls. I remembered how special it was for Robin and Laura, when they reached a certain age, to feel proud to be able to handle a task on their own such as hanging their own robe on a hook. So small and yet so momentous. As they grew, the tasks became bigger and more important, and I remember them all.

Moments before we said our final goodbyes to the sturdy home which kept us safe, warm, and dry for thirty-seven years, Ted set his phone to “record” while I slowly opened and closed our girls’ bedroom door. We took one more look around and then left.

Arm-in-arm, we walked the front path one last time, carrying with us the memories of all those who walked that path to be welcomed at our door. We have heartfelt gratitude for the close-knit community and very dear friends who so enriched our lives for many years. We pray for God’s blessing on our little New England town and its residents. We pray for the new owners to have many joy-filled years in our house on the hill, and most especially, we pray you enjoy the squeaks!

A Home of Our Own

We came upon an empty house.
A once loved and joy-filled home.
Happily we moved right in
To make this house our own.

It sits along a country road
Far from the city fray.
The peace especially welcome
After a long, hard-working day.

Soon more came to live with us.
First one child, then two.
A sturdy shelter, safe and warm.
This is where our children grew.

Playing, climbing, hiking.
Finding fun was never hard.
Heaps of leaves and snow forts,
and a swing set in the yard.

Such a lush and hilly forest
With nature’s beauty all around.
Turkeys, squirrels, birds, and deer,
and other creatures can be found.

Cold and snowy winters
so nice by the roaring stove.
Warm and steamy summers
enjoyed at Stanclift Cove.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter,
Halloween and Fourth of July,
All celebrated in this house.
Now memories of days gone by.

Neighbors, friends and family,
Have gathered in this space.
To share in the contentment
of our snug and cozy place.

It’s now time for us to move.
Bittersweetly, we leave this home,
For a new and loving family
To make this house their own.

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