When I was a kid, I lived with my grandparents on a farm in rural Virginia. (Not unlike Luke Skywalker, growing up with his aunt and uncle on the outskirts of the distant planet Tatoonie, but I digress.) When my grandmother died a few years ago, my grandfather went on living there alone for a few years, but eventually he became too ill to take care of himself, so he went to live in an assisted living community. My mother wanted to keep the house, but as it is out in the middle of nowhere, it was hard to keep up, and keep an eye on. Eventually, my grandfather's savings started to dwindle, so in order to keep him in a facility where he could receive adequate care, my mother put his house up for sale in an auction.
It's a nice home, obviously since no one has lived there in a while, it needs a little work here and there, but it's three stories, with a one car attached garage. Laundry room, two inclosed porches, three bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms, sits on 5 or 6 acres of land, paved driveway, large pond in the front yard.
I had always dreamed of having my wedding next to the pond, and raising my family there, like I was raised there.
The home sold earlier today. For sixty thousand dollars, which is probably only half of what its worth to the rest of the world, and not even a millionth of what its worth to me. It's depressing on a lot of levels, but I think the hardest part for me is knowing that now I can never go back there. My childhood is officially over. I never get to sit on the porch and look at all of my grandmothers knick-knacks again, I'll never fall asleep watching the bunny-eared TV, on the horrible rose patterned sofa. I'll never sleep in my old room.
It's an understatement to say I'm bummed out.