Moving On

I made a major decision a few months ago: I decided to sell my home. In my mind, my husband and I were going to live there for the rest of our lives and one day – when we were old – we would “go out” together. He would be driving off into the sunset with his coon dogs to hunt and I would be standing on the front porch waving and praising the Lord that I wasn’t going! But that’s not the way it has turned out.

It’s been almost 7 years since my husband passed away and I continued on in a huge home with a huge hole in my heart and my life.
Selling one’s home is not a decision to be made on the spur of the moment. I prayed about it for several months and consulted family and friends for advice. The memories made there are still so fresh in my mind: the red bird that attacked the screen door from our bedroom to the deck each morning at precisely 5:10 am for months (not a problem for me, but a huge one for my still-in-bed husband); the Christmas tree that had to be nailed to the wall with a rope to keep it up (and still managed to fall over in the middle of the night); the game of football in the living room that resulted in an a lampshade being shattered (the lampshade could be replaced but not the boys who threw and missed the football); the laughter, the tears, the prayers.

It occurred to me that what made our house a home was the love shared between husband and wife, between children and parents, between grandparents and grandchildren. That home had been a part of two daughters marrying wonderful young men, to all three children moving back home temporarily as they relocated with new careers, to six grandchildren, to a mother-in-law living there when her health failed. I think I knew all along that it wasn’t the house that made the love special: it was the people who lived in it.

I will make new memories in my new home with my children and grandchildren. There will still be games of football in the living room and Christmas trees that refuse to stay upright. There will be an occasional red bird trying to attack a screen and I am confident that the laughter, tears and prayers will continue.

The house did not matter to my husband. He could have lived in a tent. It was all about making memories with those he loved. That legacy will live on.

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