I never really understood the big deal about selling a home or moving away from one house for another for most of my life. I moved every 3-4 years while growing up. We always lived in a nice house, but I never felt any attachment to any of them.
Then, at 22 I put in a contract for the house that has become our home. I was tired of moving and transitions. I wanted something to claim as my own. This house has become the place I lived in while Hubby and I were engaged; our first place as a married couple; the place both of our children have come home from the hospital to; the place Hubby put in long hours creating a kitchen extension/laundry room and later adding a deck; the place we've grown as a couple and a family; and basically, we have made this house a home. My first real home.
I get it now. I understand how people become so attached to their houses. They aren't houses to them, they are homes.
In the coming weeks we will find out if Hubby gets into Tech or if we will stay here and he will go to ODU. In October, when he decided to pursue trying to get into Tech we were so ready to leave eastern Virginia. In the months since then we have made friends, found a church, and realized how much more this house means to us than the space it provides us. We are deeply emotionally attached to the roof over our head. We have scrimped and scrapped to make payments. We have given up so many luxuries to continue to afford this home. Our home.
Someday we will leave this house. We will move on to another town or house, maybe many acres of land and the farm we dream of. Or maybe in a few months we will move on to a two bedroom apartment in the mountains with zero yard. Either way, I will shed many, many tears over this precious little house that has become such an integral part of our family. Our first home. The greatest home we could have ever asked for.