It’s finally happened. 3.5 years after we left, we’ve sold our house. It all became official this past Tuesday after what was possibly the most complicated real estate transaction in history. (We are not doing that again. Ever. I expect our realtor also hopes to never do that again either.)
It’s bittersweet. But now we can live in one world, not two. I can start to look forward knowing that this door is finally shut. There’s been a lot of regret, sadness, and wishful thinking in the past 3.5 years, a lot of second guessing and wishing we’d never made this move, but we have, and here we are. The stress of being long-distance landlords has been, well, too much.
I love that house, I love the memories there: bringing home our last baby, our awesome neighbors, block parties, the amazing school nearby. The best babysitter ever who lived 4 houses away. Summer days at the swimming pool, riding our bikes to the library, the flowering Japanese cherry tree that my children bought me for Mother’s Day one year and planted in our front yard. (I had visions of us taking a photo together there every year on Mother’s Day–that makes me sad.)
I didn’t ever really want to leave, but for every thing there is a season. The season of Enderby Road is over, and I think I can let go now.