Letting Go...

There are supposedly 5 stages of Grief.
1. Denial. I have spent a lot of time in denial. It's not really happening. I wouldn't tell anyone about it for a few days even, really because I couldn't deal with it. Still some days I am back at step 1.
2. Anger. Okay, I may have skipped this one, or maybe replaced it with anxiety. I really don't LOVE the feeling of not knowing what is next. I am a planner, so anxiety comes with the territory when the future is unknown.
3. Bartering. I tried this one, I tried to convince myself that I could just forget about the whole thing and be fine keeping things the way they are. It didn't really work. I must not be that convincing when arguing with myself.
4. Depression. Okay, not real depression, it is just a house after all, but definitely sadness. Nostalgia. Reminiscence. Remorse. I haven't even left and I miss it already.
5. Acceptance. I don't know if I am here yet. I waver between step 4 and 5, but it's time to move on. Literally. It's time to let go.
I know it sounds completely absurd to have these feelings about a house. It's a house. But it's not just a house, it's a home. It's my home. It is the place I have brought my last 2 babies home to, it's the place where I have raised my family, where we have shared countless memories and timeless moments. It is the place that we have spent the last 4 1/2 years turning into something that is uniquely ours. We have poured hours and hours into building, cleaning, painting, repainting, decorating, laying sprinkler lines and sod, carting wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of dirt, redecorating, and making it just perfect. I know it's nothing fancy, but I really don't need fancy. It really is just perfect (okay, aside from my laundry room, but I don't even mind that anymore), it's perfect for me. Every room, corner, and closet is finally all mine, I have poured every bit of 'me' into it. And now it's not mine. We met the buyers yesterday. They are great, really they are. They have 3 little girls who will LOVE the playroom. They are the perfect fit. They even drive an Odyssey :). But I felt like I was giving them my child. I wanted to tell them to take good care of it and never try to change it. I wanted to tell them that I hate my laundry room and that they really don't want this house. I wanted to tell them that this neighborhood is amazing, and that they had better appreciate every minute that they are here. I didn't. Instead I made small talk and told them how much we love this neighborhood (and we really really do), then spent the rest of the day reminiscing about our home. No, I have not completely let go. I am not quite at step 5 yet. I know that this is for the best. I know that we will grow to love our new home (once we decide what and where to build, and someday move in :). I know that we will somehow come to feel the same way about our new neighborhood that we do about Harvest Hills. Our neighbors are our friends, but so much more than that, they have become like family. We depend on each other, share our joys and sorrows, and truly care for each other. We will never replace them, but hopefully find that some close-knit community feeling again. Sometimes you realize when you get what you want you didn't get exactly what you want. I want a new house, but I want my old house. I want my old house with a few changes. Changes that I can't make to it, so it just wouldn't work. And so, as time has gone on, I have begun to accept it. Begun to look for a new house that will feel like home again. Begun to feel a glimmer of hope and excitement at the prospect of a new adventure. Begun to feel the thrill of building something from nothing (literally from a flat plot of dirt) - this time knowing that what we are building is ours (the last house we build we sold before we ever lived in it). Begun to feel like I can let go. I am not there yet, but the process has begun.