you make the turn onto the block. In less than thirty days, we have to figure out what to do with our furniture and the new appliances, and where we will go. One month earlier, my parents contacted a realtor to sell the house. For two weekends we had to leave so the realtor could hold “Open House.” There was one offer made on the house, but we are not sure why the bank did not accept the offer.
In July 2010, the day of the sale, the day we tried to delay and prevent for four years has arrived. That morning, there are no neighbors outside to say goodbye to and no visit from a bank official. It is depressingly anti-climactic in a way I never imagined. With no warning, or prior notice in the mail, the power shuts off at 8:00 a.m. In the eerily quiet and empty house, Dennis and I do a final walk-through. We had watched news reports of disgruntled foreclosed homeowners who destroyed the house before moving out; a “screw you” to the bank. We don’t break anything. There was too much love put into the house to destroy anything. The experience has destroyed enough. After a few minutes of silence, Dennis asks, “Are you ready to go?” I’m not, but I answer, “Yes.” Quietly and uneventfully, with no sign of the mental and emotional trauma we went through, we walk out of the house for the last time. He starts the truck engine and slowly pulls forward out of the driveway. It is over. We drive to the end of the block to the stop sign, as we have done many times before, as if nothing is different. But everything is different. We are different. And we have no idea what comes next.
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