There is a saying, "When God closes a door, he opens a window."
This weekend, I will close the door to my old house. It's hard to explain how I feel about this. On the one hand, I'm looking forward to finally living in my new house (we've owned it for three weeks but haven't slept there yet). On the other hand, I'm leaving the house I can navigate in the dark, where I know what switch works what light, and where if I close my eyes and listen hard enough I can still hear the memories, both good and bad, of seven years gone by.
I'm not walking out forever, I still own it. I'm sure I'll be going back when the renters call about something going wonky (it's an 80 year old house, after all). But it won't be my furniture, or my pictures on the walls.
I'm glad I didn't sell it. I don't think I'm ready to let it go. Maddy even talks about living there when she's "growed up". If I still own it, and she still wants it, then I think it would fantastic.
Life is ever-changing and always evolving, but it's nice to have a piece of the past to hold on to while you're looking out the window toward your future.