[I wanted to wait until it was completely official to let everyone know that we sold our house. It's something we have thought about for a long time - well before my diagnosis. As we look forward to the next chapter of our lives, I can't help but feel a deep sadness at this bittersweet goodbye. I wanted to share what I wrote a couple days ago while I tried to pack up our home....]
I sit here on your beautiful wood floor, in a seemingly empty room, yet one packed with endless memories. I can hear the echo of my own breathe against your bare walls. As I sit in the warm light of my favorite room, I am so overcome with emotions. I can't stop the tears from flowing. I have loved you for so long - you have been a part of our lives - our family - our story - our legacy. And this goodbye is so much harder than I ever imagined it would be.
I remember the first time I drove by and saw you. I was so excited that my hardworking (then) boyfriend had saved up enough to purchase his first home. The first one of all his friends to have a place of his own. I was always scoping out the local neighborhoods and searching online for the perfect place for him - knowing one day it would become my home too. I remember driving by you one summer day and I'm sorry to say that I didn't give you much thought. You had been empty for over a year and looked like you could have used a a good dose of TLC. Little did I know that Mike would end up buying you a month or so later and that we would spend 7 1/2 wonderful years here together.
We have put so much love and attention into you, our beautiful first home. We have taken such great pride in owning you and creating our life here. There are have been countless memories here that we will never forget. So many fun parties with friends, spending our first day as husband and wife here, and welcoming our sweet pup into our lives and into this home.
But, we have experienced a lot of pain here as well. I will never forget the day we moved Mike's mom into the guest bedroom as she entered hospice care. We were so young, and yet we knew this is where she needed to be - with us, in this house - where we could care for her and be with her as we had to say our final good byes.
As we picked up the pieces from her loss, it was in this home that we grieved while also trying to plan for a future - a future that included our beautiful wedding, many incredible travels, and of course, plans to expand our family and have children. We spent many nights up in our bedroom talking about which baby names we liked best, how we would decorate a nursery, and how we couldn't wait to bring a sweet baby into our lives - into this home. It was in this house that I cried over the first negative pregnancy test, and a few more negative tests following that one. It was here that Mike would hold me and tell me that it would all be okay and that we would eventually have the family we wanted so badly.
And it was also here that on March 23, 2011 our world came crashing down. It was in this house, in our bed that we wept and feared for the road ahead as we learned of my cancer diagnosis. It was in this house that my family came over to rally around me that first day - to hold me in the silence and share my tears. It was here that Mike and I laid in bed the night before my spine biopsy to see if my cancer had spread, and I looked into his eyes and said, "I know this is going to be bad."
As our lives turned into a tailspin of doctors appointments, rounds of chemo, and an emotional roller coaster, it was you, sweet house- it was you that become our refuge. My best girls redecorated our bedroom and made a peaceful oasis for me as I spent countless hours in bed. It was here that all of our loved ones gathered together for a "Love Fest" before chemo started. It was within your comforting and familiar walls that I recovered after each chemo treatment, every surgery, and each round of radiation. It was you I always wanted to get back to. To rest my tired and weary body, to console my broken heart and spirit, to spend the cherished moments alone with Mike and Wrig - who are my life.
It was on your stairs that I passed out in the middle of the night after my first round of chemo. I scared Mike so badly. It was in your cozy basement family room where I lived in a recliner for nearly a month while I recovered from a grueling double mastectomy. It was here that I received hundreds of cards, deliveries and well wishes while I truly fought for my life.
So, while our lives here have been filled with more blessings than I could ever count, we have also endured great pain and heartache here. Our lives are now forever changed and it's time for a fresh start. Time to let go of the past and what we thought could have been. To embrace each moment and look ahead to the future. A future filled with unknowns but a future nonetheless.
I spent many tearful weeks and months within your embrace, wondering if there would ever be a time I could dream again - plan again - look forward to the future again. Would I have a future after being diagnosed with Stage IV cancer? So, moving on and saying goodbye to you is so much more than wanting a new house. It symbolizes that I have finally got there - finally made it to the point where I can look ahead and truly believe that I have a much more living to do. It may not be the life I thought I would have - it might be filled with more pain and heartache than I ever thought I would know - but it is also filled with more love and happiness than most people ever have the privilege to experience.
As much as I used to look forward to a new "bigger and better" home, I now know that it's not about that. I am no longer seeking anything bigger and better - nothing could replace the life that Mike and I have built here in our quaint first home. We don't need "bigger and better" - we just need a new beginning. A peaceful place that hasn't witnessed the pain that you have witnessed here. A home that may not ever be filled with children, but it will be filled with the love of so many friends and family members. A home that will soon be helping us create new memories filled with just as much joy as we have had here.
I will miss you so much, 910 Harvard. Although we are moving on, we have cherished the years we have spent with you and they will always remain some of the best days of our lives. We are taking a leap of faith and praying that we find what we are looking for - a home we can love just as much as we have loved you. A place to start our next chapter and begin a new adventure. Your new owner is lucky to have you and we hope he cherishes his days here just as much as we have.
Thank you for all the memories.
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