Emotional baggage.
I gots it.
My childhood home is going to sell. It doesn't matter who buys it, but it matters who buys it.
I need the new owners to understand. This house is "home base." I sit here, typing this in the master bedroom: the room in which I was most-likely conceived, the room in which my father died peacefully after a long illness.
How can you let new owners know what a house means to your family? There is so much history here. It's us. It's my family. But I shouldn't let this house define us. It really doesn't. We are so much more.
I can't think about this anymore. It's too much. I thought writing it out would help, but I don't think I'm properly expressing my thoughts.
Words escape me. Why am I so bothered?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment