My mother's house is closing this afternoon, after being on the dismal Florida market since June 2008. It surprised me how emotional this was.
I didn't really think Mom would ever live there again, but maybe somewhere in the way far back of my mind I had a fantasy? I had to have her declared incompetent in order to become the successor trustee and sign the paper work. Perhaps it's the finality of it. Maybe seeing in black and white the words "Alzheimer's dementia".
I moved back to Florida to be with my parents after my dad got sick.
I turned 40 in that house (no, that wasn't depressing at all.). My relationship with my father was healed in that house (trust me, it was all my fault. Really.). I got my beloved truck, Angus Og, (thanks Dad), when I lived in that house. I re-discovered photography while living in that house; became a prize-winning poet in that house.
Now my dad's gone, the truck's gone, the dog's gone, my mother, for all practical purposes, is gone, and after today, the house is too.