04.29.10
Closing a Chapter
Tomorrow we sell our house. Our first house. The house where we found out that Jennifer was pregnant. The house we brought Anna home to. The house where we found out that Jennifer was pregnant again. The house that was probably the first loving home Sasha, Russ, and Bailey knew. The house that was the last home Sasha and Russ knew. As I wait for 3PM tomorrow when we close, I find myself having a much more difficult time than I anticipated. It isn’t because I think it is the wrong decision or the wrong timing. It isn’t uncertainty about the new house. It is because that was the house where our family blossomed and grew for over 11 years. That house saw us grow from a couple, to a couple with a dog, to a family with a dog, to a family, and back (a couple of times). We entered as two and we leave as five.
Thinking back over some of the myriad things God has brought us through in that house, one of the things I keep coming back to is Sasha. Tomorrow we close on our old house—2 weeks before the first anniversary of her death. That house is one of the few tangible connections I still have to her. That’s where her bed was; that’s where we would nap on the floor together; that’s the fireplace tile where she liked to lie. And that, right there by the breakfast bar, that is where I held her for the last time. That is where I gently stroked her head as she breathed her last. That ground is almost sacred to me. It almost feels like a desecration to leave that to someone else to tend—someone who has no idea the love and loss that was felt there.
There were plenty of joyful times, too, which aren’t any easier to leave behind. God blessed us so far beyond expectation (and certainly even further beyond what we deserved) during our time there. That was where Jennifer greeted me at the door to tell me she was pregnant with Anna (on the same day our niece was born). That was where Jennifer woke me up to tell me she pregnant again (on Valentine’s Day). That was Anna’s first room (and it was beautiful). That was where Anna first crawled, pulled up, walked, rolled over, tried cereal.
The house had its annoyances. It was not the perfect house. But it was the right house and it was a blessing.
Intellectually, I know that moving does nothing to diminish Sasha’s memory or life. I can only hope that God will bless us with even more joyous milestones in the new house. I know we would (most likely) have to move at some point. I know this move is good for our growing family. I know this move will enable us to help even more.
I also know the hurt in my heart and the tears on my face.
Mae said,
April 29, 2010 at 9:42 pm
I was going to ask who the sentimental one was - based on your fb status.
Bittersweet … made me cry reading about Sasha … I know the Lord will grant you guys even sweeter memories in house #2.
Blessings Felios.
martha said,
May 18, 2010 at 11:34 pm
David, I just read this post, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.
We’ve talked here about ghosts before. Our guys are all buried in the garden, and I still can catch each one out of the corner of my eye from time to time. Now, you might say that’s easy, they’re right outside the door, and you haven’t left the house where they lived with you for so long. Here’s something, though: Pets I haven’t seen in years who are long dead and buried will sometimes appear over my shoulder as if to say “Whatcha doin’? I’m OK, just checkin’ in.”
I’ll bet Sasha will make the move with you.