When my mom passed away in May 2019, the first thing that many people asked me was, “So, are you going to sell the house? Maybe that would be a good idea.” Or, “Are you keeping the house? When my parents died, I sold the house right away.”

I don’t know about you, but it was not the first thing on my mind in the weeks following her death. Even if I had been so inclined, I did not have the brain power to undertake such an enormous task. So, I waited and thought, there’s no rush, I’ll slowly go through the house, get rid of a few things, figure out what’s there, spend some time at the house to reflect and grieve, then see what I think.

Then Covid hit, and travelling to Toronto was out of the question. Fortunately, I had installed a security system and also had the human security systems surrounding her home, on it 24-7. It was hilarious. On one particular day a contractor I’d been using came by to the house to clean the eaves. Within minutes, one of the neighbors called me in Ottawa to let me know there was a van in the driveway and someone was around the house. My immediate thought was, Mrs. Kravitz. But I was grateful, I didn’t need to worry, the neighbors actually provided me with peace in mind, because they knew my parents and they knew me and, it was their way of helping out during a difficult time. One of the neighbors also reached out to ask if their mother-in-law could park in the driveway as she was babysitting her little one. It was perfect, she had a place to park and the house looked occupied. Win, win.

I’ve always made it a point of getting to know my neighbors. It’s important, not only because many become friends, but it is also helpful during a crisis when you need someone extra support. People will go out of there way to help out, how ever they are able to.

Time past, there was the first wave, then the second and the third, and even though we were deep in a pandemic, house prices began to rise astronomically. Then the questions and advice started again, “So, are you going to sell the house, I would.” Or, “Great time to sell”. I find it strange that this is the question people lead with in conversation. Why do people do this? Something to say, I guess. There is a lot of interest as to what you are actually doing in your life.

**

It had been a year and a half since her death and I was beginning to come around to the idea that I was time to let the house go. In March I reached out to a real estate agent who I was aware of, who had been selling homes in the neighborhood for over 30 years.

Funny, later on, as I was slowly going through papers, I came across notepad after notepad with the same real estate agent’s picture on it. I had pics from the early 90’s till now. She had been with my mom through her marketing material for years.

After reaching out to her, she advised me that the market in Toronto was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her 30+ years in real estate. Selling it now was probably a good idea, but it would have to be done quickly, as she felt that it could change at any moment and slide in the opposite direction. So, I contemplated, considered, decided to give it a go, and list it.

It took a month for the right buyer to show up and make an offer. It was important to me that it went to a young family that might build the kind of memories that I had living there, so I set an intention and asked the universe to help me out, and they delivered.

The day before the offer, I woke up thinking of an amount, and that afternoon, they offered that exact amount. Apparently, they were a lovely young family with two young children. The mom and dad both worked in the area, their daughter was enrolled in a school nearby and they were really hoping to buy in the neighborhood, because it has a long history of community. The whole thing felt right to me, so I accepted.

According to the agreement, the closing date would arrive quickly, so what that meant for me, was that I needed to get on it and get organized. The window to pack up the house was small, only about 3 weeks. I thought to myself, how hard could it be, I’ve already gone through a good chunk of stuff, there’s not much left to do”, so I just focused on getting it done. Quickly, I got into the groove, but slightly overwhelmed with all the details, I forgot the major impact and toll it might take on me at other levels.

* *

I had never put a house on the market, but did have a pretty good idea as to what was, but no one really gives it to you straight prior to an event like this, or maybe if they do, we have a hard time believing that the statement, “it’s a lot of work” actually means”.

To be clear, I see myself as fairly aware, done a substantial amount of inner work, understand that I am an empath and feel a lot, but I was not prepared for the overwhelming emotions that I felt, the deep sadness and the deep laughter, the shock and awe, fueled by the extreme exhaustion of getting it done.

The exhaustion was not unlike the exhaustion I felt when my mom was sick. This experience brought back the memories that these events procure, extreme self care. The importance of eating properly, taking breaks and allowing plenty of time to go through, organize, pack, clear and clean the house. If you can afford to do so, hire someone to help you pack, to take a few loads to the Sally Anne or maybe get someone to pick up the items going to the garbage, or task a friend with reminding you to walk away from it all for an hour or so, doing something completely different.

I try to re-home things whenever possible, but that does take time, particularly if the only way to do so, is to deliver to another person. The more planning done ahead of the event, the better for you, in many respects, but it is not always possible. Not unlike the advice I give people with regards taking someone with you to a particularly intense appointment, serving as a non-bias anchor, the voice of reason when there is a chance or you are, very emotional. This event needs someone a little removed that can hold space for you when you are upset, hand you some food and tell you to stop packing for the day.

My family was stellar in the support they gave me throughout this event, each in their own way, amidst their own grief and sadness and their daily life commitments. They grew up with grandparents that were present in their lives. They have many, many fond memories of the love that was cultivated in that house, with a gramma and grampa that loved them so much.

So many neighbors and friends lent their support as well. The lovely man that mowed the lawn, shoveled the driveway and stayed on for a good 3 hours, because that day I was alone, trying to clean up the yard, an old friend from grade school dropping stuff off at the Sally, my dear friend down the street inviting me to her backyard sanctuary for tea and my brother and sister in law offering morale support or a helping hand. Far away friends offered their support through phone calls and messages, a neighbor loaning me a screw driver because mine was buried in a box and an air mattress dropped off for me to sleep on when the bed went out the curb. All of these wonderful people, who I call my friends, were there for me. I am forever grateful for the people in my life, the tribe I’ve cultivated, particularly in this circumstance.

Most of us face this task at least once in our lifetime and trust me, it’s a real lesson in what we focus on, how we cultivate love in ourselves and express it to others that we hold dear. You discover the bits and pieces of life that brought your family comfort and what they spent their time doing. My parents had a system for paying bills, that never changed. When a bill would arrive at the house, it was immediately paid, put back in the envelope, noted that it was paid, with the date on the outside of the envelope and filed in order with the rest from that company. There was also a grocery list always on the go, on the kitchen counter and notes where always available on the wall calendar of upcoming events and reminders. There was an order to things, a commitment to their structure of living.

**

Many people choose to not go through the contents of a home, but to have someone else do that for them. Perhaps they don’t want to, have told themselves they don’t have time or someone else has offered to do it, or maybe they just can’t bear it. I get it, it was challenging for me, being me. When you are sorting through a family members belongings, physically touching, fabrics, papers, jewellry, dishes, mugs, pots and pans, their is an energy of them left behind and sometimes a memory that insights an emotional response. If you are sensitive like me, you have to pace yourself, because it can be a lot.

I am glad though, that it was in my nature to go through it all and would encourage anyone to do the same. If you choose to go that route, you will inevitably uncover something that will give you inner clarity and a better understanding of your family and why they did things the way they did. But maybe, just maybe, you will discover the love that your parents truly felt for you, expressed in their own unique way. Then that is gift, one that you can use as fuel to come back to yourself and become who you are truly meant to be, because that is what they would want for you as well.

None the less, it felt strange to go through all the many things, sorting through paperwork, so much paperwork….. Shredding for 4 days straight, 4 hours each time, equating to 16 hours, couple of bottles of wine and a lot of Netflix. But there wasn’t, just my mom’s things. There were my dad’s things, my grandparents on both sides things and even some of my things. So, I was dealing with an ancestral capsule.

There were shirts still on hangers, pants never worn, pinned up to be hemmed. Paperwork from my figure skating days, patterns from costumes, flyers from ice shows at the arena and costume lists. Invoices from my wedding and after party, all of the replies to our wedding reception and the bracelet given at the hospital when I was born. I found some of my baby clothes, plane tickets from the various trips we had taken as a family, concert tickets from the 70’s and letters and cards from my childhood girlfriends and family.

There were photographs, 1000’s of them, very old ones giving me a glimpse into my family history, 100’s of pictures of my kids, of parties when they were first married, spending time with people who were a part of their whole life. A family that made long term friends, forever friends, it was a reminder of that and what I hold dear in my own life.

There were my mother’s many awards for “Perfect Attendance” at work, her shorthand practice notes, my dad’s workbook when they changed how they calculated the load on an airplane, from by hand, to computer and a large variety of towels and sheets, neatly folded by colour and style.

Then there was, the quirky things, a metal detector, why they had one, I’m not sure. My dad collected coins and stored in the back of a closet and in the attic. Plastic bags, things stored in a bag, in another bag.

It’s funny though, it was the seemingly insignificant things, like a brush used to buff shoes, paper wrappers to roll coins, tiddly winks used when my nan and I played store, costume jewelry used for dress up, the smell of the linen closet, the vintage carving knife that was used to carve the turkey every year, the scissors mounted on the wall in the kitchen, that bowl that always held the beets in the fridge, the pots that I swear make the best mashed potatoes, the recipe box, letters I wrote to Santa and cards I sent and received from my parents at every special occasion, just to remind me I was loved, to brighten my day or say thanks, that resonated most.

My parents took care of their stuff, all things were stored properly, put away immediately after use, garden equipment was cleaned off before putting away, clothes were washed, pressed and hung in the closet promptly after being laundered. Everything was in immaculate shape, even stuff from the 50’s. Seeing the value of their hard work, they took care of their stuff, only spending if they had the money and rarely putting things on credit. Basically, they lived within their means. They lived an intentional life, very much on their own terms.

**

The new owners were intitled to two visits prior to the move in date, so I inquired through my real estate agent whether the upcoming Wednesday would be a good day. I told her that we would be there in the garage preparing and packing, but they were welcome to come. Excited, I was looking forward to meeting them.

The real estate agent arrived first and she was lovely. Turns out she just completed the same course I did at Humber College back in the day. My daughter Erika and her got talking, and discovered she might be in need of some graphic design services, so a connection was made.

The new owners arrived and everything felt just as I imagined it would be. I was thrilled and knew without a doubt that my parents would be thrilled too. It was supposed to be an hour-long visit, but it easily turned into 3 hours. We wandered through the house, with me showing their young daughter my old room and telling her about some of the many memories I had living there. I’d been trying to find homes for some of the furniture and it turned out that those pieces were exactly what they needed, so they gladly accepted them.

They also shared that they had plans to add to the home and that they would welcome a visit when we came to Toronto. We shared social media accounts, numbers and that the feelings were mutual, as original and new home owners. We all expressed that, “it just felt right”, upon meeting one another and any doubts were gone. Although it was bittersweet, everything felt ok, because the right family was moving in. As a gesture of well wishes and to thank them for choosing this house, I left them two bottles of wine, some roses, my mom’s favourite and a card wishing them well.

The next day I reached out to my real estate agent to thank her and her team for all they had done for me. She told me that it was unusual that me as a home seller, met the new owners and spent time with them. She assured me that it not typically done that way, adding that it had been a lot more fun. She also mentioned that other agents began to ask her why they house took so long to sell, given the market turn around was typically less than a week and mine took a month. To that she said, “the owner is waiting for the right person”. Most found that strange. No matter, we were happy about it.

**

It has been 3 months since the house was sold and we have kept in touch with the new owners. They are settling in and making my old home theirs. The garden at the front has changed, bushes are trimmed, flowers have been planted and I’m sure the house is beginning to take on the love that they feel for their family.

I remember my mom and dad differently now, with even more love and gratitude than I ever thought possible. They faced the ups and downs that many years of life and marriage brings, with integrity and grace, and showed vulnerability as souls living a human existence.

Every day I strive to embrace that love and fuel me to move forward in my own life, with the class, integrity and honesty that they lived theirs.

My eldest cousin once said to me “You need to remember what and who you come from. Your family shows love in all that we are and works to live in that love each day.”

He couldn’t be more right.

For a deeper dive into how my journey began, visit the The Practical Empath.