My husband and I closed on the sale of our house in Kansas City recently. We moved to Seattle five months ago, and through the winter the empty house was a worry.
Kansas City had a cold and snowy winter. That meant a risk of frozen pipes and other cold-weather disasters, as well as a concern about keeping the walks and driveway shoveled so potential buyers could have access. Thankfully, we had an excellent realtor—a friend as well as a professional—and she made sure the house stayed in good shape. She saw us through a first offer that fell through and a second offer that resulted in the sale. Now we are no longer homeowners for the first time in 44 years.
We owned three homes in those 44 years:
- the first for four years where we realized how much maintenance a house takes and welcomed our son,
- the second for 35 years where we welcomed our daughter, raised a family, became empty nesters, and ultimately retirees
- and the last we lived in for five years, designed from the ground up to accommodate aging in place.
I’d hoped our third house would be a “forever” home—a house we would live in until we were carried out. But for various reasons, that was not the case. We had no relatives left in Missouri, my husband has Parkinson’s, and we were one health-care emergency away from becoming a burden on our distant children.
Plus, we had a granddaughter. We decided to move to be closer to her and her parents and other relatives. Then, just weeks after we moved, we learned we will be grandparents again this spring! So we have many things drawing and keeping us in our new location.
Despite our belief that this move was a rational decision, it has been psychologically hard. For the first time in 44 years, we don’t own a house. We feel uprooted. We left a city where we’d lived for 45 years, where we had friends and social and volunteer groups we liked and knew well. We downsized from 3000+ square feet to 1000 square feet. We moved from a large single-family house into a retirement community. We take our meals in a communal dining room instead of our own kitchen (though I’m glad not to have to cook and the food is excellent).
We no longer have a house that is OURS, all ours. Although our apartment is comfortable, it isn’t isolated, and we try not to disturb our neighbors on the other side of the walls. Now we can’t stomp on the floors (which toddler granddaughter doesn’t understand). We shouldn’t shout at each other from room to room. We must do laundry at reasonable hours. We can’t take the trash out in our bathrobes and bare feet.
As is often the case, my husband has come to look at the brighter side of our situation more quickly than I have. He recently wrote a friend, “We are very happy to be done with [selling the house]. We really liked the place, but letting it go will permit us to finish unpacking the boxes—mental as well as physical . . . .”
Mental boxes. I love his description of the attitude adjustment we must make. Most of our physical boxes are unpacked. Now I need to focus on opening my mental boxes as well.
Life is different, but it can be equally good. Let go of the things of the past, and embrace the present. Or, as said in Ecclesiastes 3:5 KJV, “A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together.” I must cast away the stones of my old house and gather the stones of the new—we no longer live in a house, but we do have a home.
What mental boxes have you had to unpack recently?
The box I have unpacked recently is physical as well as mental. A grocery sack of cards and love letters from my deceased husband from 52 years of marriage. Very emotional. So I say write each other notes and cards ( they can be funny) and leave them around the apartment or give them to each other. And save them.❤️
Thank you for this, Kitty. I can imagine what an emotional experience rereading those letters must have been. And it’s a good reminder that it’s never too late to build new memories.
Theresa
Having to empty two appartments and move into a third in 2 years time had meant a lot to pack away, give away and unpack my whole life.
All that moving was surely stressful — both physical AND mental unpacking!
At 71 years of age, I am committed to ironing out differences or quirks with people that matter to me and have benefitted greatly. Relationships are important so having difficult discussions is so very worth the energy and the emotion. Lots of mental unpacking involved, especially with family members because of our history. It’s been a very good experience for me.
Irene, your comment adds another dimension to mental unpacking. I thought of it in terms of things and places, but it pertains to people as well.