Selling the house

They sold a piece of themselves to the highest bidder.

Owning a house to raise children was especially important for the woman who never lived in one, and had grown up among six people in a 700 sq. ft. flat. The place was her baby.

The center-entrance colonial they bought all those years ago had had a series of owners and renters so the couple left it vacant through several months to make it over as their own.

They opened spaces and raised ceilings. The side yard was awarded a patio with a picket fence. A concrete porch was planked and painted. Even after all that, a neighbor referred to it as the “starter home” around the corner.

After the children ventured out on their own, the couple slowly lost interest in meeting the never-ending demands of a century old home. The retreat where they shared the family’s victories and nursed its setbacks had became too much.

The kids made the pilgrimage home to mark the days before it changed hands.

During the sale the buyer was referred to simply as the “buyer.” Their realtor and their attorney had encouraged them to maintain a distance, knowing buyers back out of deals for any number of reasons.

Neighborhood friends keep them up to date on what the charming and friendly new owner is doing. As is his right, he’s proceeded to reverse many of the decisions they were most proud of.

As the closing approached they watched their house of thirty seven years being reduced to a commodity expressed in abstract numbers on piece of paper. Sign here, initial here.

There should be a specific name for the waves of homesickness that visit the couple from time to time, but there isn’t.