no. 397 – Home is Where the Heart Is

Tell me, when is it acceptable for faded vomit stains on a carpet and a border lined with pink giraffes and orange elephants to make one break down and sob uncontrollably?

When they are in the first room your child ever knew surrounded by some stranger’s crap.

We are closing today on our other house, if all goes well.

If all goes well. Ha.

This past weekend, we went to the house to get the last few things out, which were just some towels in the bathrooms and a couple of boxes from the basement. When we walked in, we were stunned to see the next owner’s possessions piled everywhere: a disassembled dining room table, a couch, a matching rocking chair, an entertainment center WITH the TV and an assortment of moving boxes. In the bedroom, their bed was set up, but with no linens. Both closets in the master bedroom were full of clothes. In X’s room? Another bed, half assembled. More boxes of crap and more clothes in that closet. Everything had the subtle odor of eau de Lap Dog and Old People.

It was when I was standing in X’s room, looking at the juxtaposition of the nursery colors against boxes of fake greenery and a stranger’s photos that I lost it.

Mr. DD asked what was wrong when he rounded the corner and found me there. "This is X’s room! They have no right to put their shit in here!" I felt a little hysteria creep into my voice.

We were told the new owners wanted to bring some things over, but Mr. DD and I both understood that they were to leave it in the garage. We called our realtor who "assured" us that the new owners had renter’s insurance and that they had even switched all the utilities over into their names.

As much as I wanted to get rid of the house after we moved, I am feeling very, very sad. Almost all of his baby pictures are made of scenes created in and around that house. Our son was created in that house. I painted this faux welcome mat on the front porch during my "nesting" stage.

Somehow, before I was ready to say good-bye to it all, in my way, it was snatched away from me. I’m hurt. I feel betrayed somehow.

I want to grab my son’s blankets, go back into the house one more time, curl up on his floor and just weep.

I’m saying good-bye to so much more than a house. Even more than just a home. I’m leaving a little bit of my soul there. Even sadder, probably Vivienne’s as well. Somehow, I feel like I’m saying good-bye to what I had left of hope.

Am I pathetic or what? Never mind, don’t answer that. I already know the answer.