Saying Goodbye to a House Haunted by Happiness

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memory books. All the books are gone from my old bedroom, packed away in boxes sorted into ‘keep’ and ‘donate’ piles.</p><p id="0ac6">I’m not a particularly sentimental person; I’m more likely to throw away an old memento than keep it. With my family digging up our fifteen-year-old roots in Michigan and transplanting them to the marshy soil of Savannah, Georgia, I didn’t expect the wave of nostalgic sadness that washes over me whenever I see that listing.</p><h1 id="adc8">How do we properly grieve for a house?</h1><p id="7fd2">Maybe ‘grieve’ isn’t the right word; maybe even ‘sadness’ doesn’t capture the feeling accurately. It seems like a copout to say I have mixed emotions as I pack up cardboard boxes and sell off things I don’t want to move, but that’s exactly what’s going on. I feel simultaneously elated to move to a new place and wistful for the memories and history I’m leaving behind.</p><p id="ff8e">I’m not quite sure what to do with these feelings. I’ve been walking through the house, sometimes talking to it, thanking it for how wonderful it’s been, how it’s sheltered us and comforted us and given us a safe, fun space for so long. I tell the house that it’s going to be a wonderful

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new home for a new family, hopefully one with young kids who will put up a jungle gym in the backyard and have parties around the fire pit. I hope they have a dog or two that will take advantage of the large yard and play fetch off the back deck. I hope they fill the house with love and laughter, infusing its walls with even more happiness.</p><h1 id="ec84">A fresh view on the ‘haunted’ house</h1><p id="a881">Just like houses can be haunted by sadness and violence, I think houses can also be haunted by happiness. After all the years of laughter and joy my house has soaked up, I’d say this view definitely applies. I hope that when the new family moves in, they can feel the specter of joy that pervades this house like a miasma.</p><p id="a5f4">Finally, I hope that the new house we move into in Georgia will have this same type of haunting, and that we can continue to strengthen the happiness within its walls.</p><p id="e73f">Saying goodbye to my childhood home will be difficult, but I know we’ve left it better than we found it.</p><blockquote id="f79e"><p>How do you say goodbye to a house or a place that has meant so much to you? Let me know in the comments!</p></blockquote></article></body>

Not all hauntings are scary

Original painting of my childhood home: Nikole Hampton used with permission

The listing went up yesterday. I found out via a Zillow notification pinging into my inbox; when I opened the email, I found a gorgeous picture of my childhood home staring back at me, the daisies blooming and the front lawn like green velvet.

My parents bought the house in Michigan in 2006, and we moved there from Dallas when I was 13. Before that, we were in Dallas for nine years, and before that, I was born in Nashville, Tennessee. The house in Michigan has been my favorite, and also the place I’ve been able to call home for the longest amount of time.

That makes it all the stranger to see the listing, to be scrolling through professional pictures that barely look like our house, with all of our personal photos and mementos stashed in cabinets and hastily made memory books. All the books are gone from my old bedroom, packed away in boxes sorted into ‘keep’ and ‘donate’ piles.

I’m not a particularly sentimental person; I’m more likely to throw away an old memento than keep it. With my family digging up our fifteen-year-old roots in Michigan and transplanting them to the marshy soil of Savannah, Georgia, I didn’t expect the wave of nostalgic sadness that washes over me whenever I see that listing.

How do we properly grieve for a house?

Maybe ‘grieve’ isn’t the right word; maybe even ‘sadness’ doesn’t capture the feeling accurately. It seems like a copout to say I have mixed emotions as I pack up cardboard boxes and sell off things I don’t want to move, but that’s exactly what’s going on. I feel simultaneously elated to move to a new place and wistful for the memories and history I’m leaving behind.

I’m not quite sure what to do with these feelings. I’ve been walking through the house, sometimes talking to it, thanking it for how wonderful it’s been, how it’s sheltered us and comforted us and given us a safe, fun space for so long. I tell the house that it’s going to be a wonderful new home for a new family, hopefully one with young kids who will put up a jungle gym in the backyard and have parties around the fire pit. I hope they have a dog or two that will take advantage of the large yard and play fetch off the back deck. I hope they fill the house with love and laughter, infusing its walls with even more happiness.

A fresh view on the ‘haunted’ house

Just like houses can be haunted by sadness and violence, I think houses can also be haunted by happiness. After all the years of laughter and joy my house has soaked up, I’d say this view definitely applies. I hope that when the new family moves in, they can feel the specter of joy that pervades this house like a miasma.

Finally, I hope that the new house we move into in Georgia will have this same type of haunting, and that we can continue to strengthen the happiness within its walls.

Saying goodbye to my childhood home will be difficult, but I know we’ve left it better than we found it.

How do you say goodbye to a house or a place that has meant so much to you? Let me know in the comments!