Cut Down the Ribbons

Matt and I have discussed the possibility of moving for years. We love our house. It served our family well for the past eight years. However, our family looks different now. We no longer require four bedrooms, wide doorways, and roll-in showers. I have been looking at real estate options on and off for quite some time. We finally ran through the numbers and felt it was time. Much of our lives occur closer to the city. The ability to be at a friend's home in less than ten minutes sounds divine.

So the last two weeks have been a blur. With the help of my parents, we got our home on the market. We had five offers within the first two days. We selected the best offer and we hope to close in about four weeks. Depersonalizing our home and creating a blank canvas for prospective buyers has not been easy for me. I kept two canvases of the kids on the walls because I could not bear to see their little faces smiling at me.

We had landscapers come and prep the yard. The last task was removing the purple ribbons from our trees. A neighbor put them up when Oliver died. They are weathered and tattered, but I loved having them there. A tangible reminder of our grief. Two trees marked. Two lives lost.

Leaving this house is going to be difficult. It holds so many precious memories and some ugly ones as well. The old song "If These Walls Could Speak" keeps running through my head. It has been over a year. It feels right. I have learned over the years that the best way to move within grief is to listen to my body and heart. Both are telling me it is time. The memories this house holds are not bound by its walls. They are within me.

We have yet to find our next house. It will come. And I will know when I enter it, that it will be the space which will hold new memories and remembrances of the old. Waverly and Oliver will be present and felt, never to be forgotten.