(46 Weeks)
827 miles. That was the journey before us as we pulled out of the parking lot of the Crown Plaza in Suffern, New York, before dawn on the last Friday in June. The hotel, just over the border, had been the overnight accommodations for my daughter, our dog, and me for the previous two nights following the closing on our New Jersey home (the cat was guest at Best Friends Pet Motel).
The road trip just belonged to me and Enzo though. I’d be back for the cat in two weeks (he got to fly), and the girl was staying behind for a few months to enjoy her first post-high school summer, couch-surfing, living out of her CR-V, continuing to work her part-time job, and not yet having to say good-bye to her first real boyfriend.
She was a little pissed at me for selling her childhood home so soon (5 days!) after her high school graduation.
June 2018 was the month we were going to move. That was our plan when we bought the house 11 years earlier. We never saw the point in living in a 4-bedroom house, paying exorbitant taxes, once our only child graduated high school. That idea wasn’t unique to us. Every June there were many homes whose front lawns were decorated with both “Congratulations Graduate” and “SOLD” signs.
When I found myself a windowed, single parent, I didn’t change that plan. Honestly, I probably would have preferred to move sooner. There were a lot of memories in the house, but when I mentioned that to my daughter, 14 at the time, she said that was the reason why we should stay. And we did, as difficult as it was for me at times, I knew staying provided consistency and some security for her.
I only moved once as a kid aside from my original move from Ireland which I was too young to remember. When we moved toward the end of 4th grade, it was just to the house next door; a house my parents owned all my life and with which I was familiar. I didn’t change schools or leave my friends. My daughter had already done that at the beginning of 2nd grade. So, now that she was just starting high school, we stayed.
In hindsight, if I had it all to do over again, I would have done it all very differently.
When 2018 approached, I was counting down the months and weeks until June. The house went on the market in February and by the middle of May we had an acceptable offer. They wanted us to be out of the house before the end of June, just 6 weeks later. While June had been my original plan and goal, I’m not sure why I allowed myself to be bullied by the buyers.
Part of it was financial and part of it was my desire to begin my new life. But, yeah, if I had to do it again, I’d pass on the buyers before allowing myself to leave that home on anything other than my terms. That decision affected how and what I packed, the movers I hired, how I said good-bye. I felt so rushed.
Part of the issue was that I did the packing, cleaning and discarding all by myself. I never asked for help. Some may have been offered; I may have refused it. So, the second thing I’d do differently is line up some people to help.
To simplify the process, I also wish I had liquidated everything; packed only my prized possessions, hired some strong individuals to do the heavy lifting and pack it all into a U-Haul. Cross-county moves, I learned, cost a ridiculous amount of money and not all your stuff gets there in one piece.
On top of all that, I now know that because of the pandemic, property values in northern New Jersey have gone through the roof! Renting it out instead of selling would have been an option worth considering.
I have this bad habit of considering the “what ifs” way too often and obsessing about every decision I’ve made. It doesn’t help that my daughter – still – often expresses her disappointment in me for selling her childhood home.
Next week I celebrate six years in Illinois. I like to think we’re all where we are supposed to be.
Google Maps said the trip to Kurt’s place would take 12 hours. I created a Spotify playlist that was more than 15, just in case, although the forecast was for clear sailing, dry and sunshine across five states. With exactly three stops of 20 minutes each for food, fuel, and relief for me and Enzo, I estimated we’d be there in time for dinner. We were.
I can’t say I never looked in the rear-view mirror in the last six years. I often have. And in doing so, I can admit that I also miss my daughter’s childhood home – and my childhood home too, which I know in leaving, I created my incredible future.
Did you really think this wasn’t going to include a fundraiser? It’s me. Of course it is! Over the course of these 60 weeks, I am hoping to raise $6000 for the children of Mercy Home for Boys & Girls (that’s just $100 a week!). To learn more about Mercy Home and my why, please visit my fundraising page. Thank you.
