I talked to my mom last night. It seems my parents put in an offer on a house. A new house. As in a different house than they’ve lived in for the last eighteen years. A different house than the one that I know. Maybe it shouldn’t weird me out so much. I live hundreds of miles away and don’t spend much time at their house as it is. It’s just that now, when I go back, it seems like I’ll feel like more of a stranger. I won’t know where anything is.
I’m happy for my parents because it’s something that they want. They wanted to move closer to my brother and the kids. And they wanted a place with no upstairs, for practical reasons and didn’t want to have to move when they couldn’t climb stairs so well anymore. But all the work my mom put into that house, it’s hard to believe that they won’t be living in it anymore. And someone else is going to move in and change it all.
I guess on the other side of that is that she’ll get to remodel the new house. If you know my mom, you know that’s one of her things. How many times have you come over and seen something new? Yeah, so maybe the old house just stopped being a challenge for her. She needs a new canvas. That’s a good way to think about it. But me, I’m sentimental. And the thought of losing that house (even though it’s not really mine) still hits me kind of hard.