Last week, I wrote about the last rose I cut from my grandparents' house. It was beautiful, smelled amazing, and had more damn thorns than any rose I'd ever held. It felt like a painfully accurate representation of everything I was feeling as I said goodbye to a place I've loved for a long time.
Today, those roses are dying, and I'm collecting the petals to make potpourri. They are no longer the beautiful, fresh flowers I brought home, but they still smell lovely, and I love the idea of keeping a little piece of Grandpa's garden around for a while longer.
Meanwhile, Gramps is already making friends, reconnecting with old ones, and settling into his new home. The man whose move consumed so much of our family's time, energy, and emotional capacity over the last several months is already busy building a life in his new community.
I LOVE THIS!!!
It's funny how much time we spend worrying about the process of getting somewhere and how little time we sometimes spend imagining what life will actually look like once we arrive.
For MONTHS, this move was full of decisions. What stays? What goes? How do we get everything packed and safely moved? What do we do with the things nobody wants? What happens to the house and all the things that, for one reason or another, meant something to Grandma? How do we make this as easy as possible for Grandpa? Yet, somewhere in the middle of all that, I was struggling with how I would deal with my own feelings and losing a place I wasn't ready to say goodbye to.
This process was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting...all of it. I was so consumed by the logistics and sadness of the transition that I sometimes lost sight of the whole point: getting Grandpa to a place where he could enjoy his next chapter. Now he's doing it...he's already enjoying it!
This is something we see all the time in real estate, and I think it is one of the parts of our job people don't necessarily realize we experience WITH our clients. We meet people in the middle of some of the biggest transitions of their lives. They're getting married, getting divorced, having babies, losing loved ones, moving closer to family, moving away from family for a new job, starting careers, downsizing, retiring, or simply realizing the life they've built no longer fits quite the way it once did.
Then we ask them to clean out their closets, make a thousand decisions, keep their house spotless, accommodate showings, allow strangers to tour their homes, negotiate inspection items, pack everything they own, and somehow continue functioning like normal human beings. That is a LOT, even when the change is something they desperately want.
The part I enjoy most is what comes after all of that.
The family who was overwhelmed by moving eventually settles into their new home. They figure out where everything belongs, meet their neighbors, establish new routines, and start making memories in rooms that felt unfamiliar only a few short months prior. The person who downsized and agonized over everything they had to give up discovers they enjoy having less to maintain...less tying them down. The empty nesters who couldn't imagine a quiet house start finding things they love about having their time back. The person who moved across the country and wondered whether they'd made a terrible mistake eventually has friends, favorite restaurants they love to recommend, and spot where everybody knows their name.
It doesn't mean they stop missing what they left behind. It means their life starts feeling like theirs again. It starts to be familiar. It starts to be comfortable.
This really isn't even exclusive to moving. Think about the child leaving home for the first time. The parents are gutted, the kid is nervous, and everybody is pretending to be a little braver than they feel. Then, a few months later, the kid is thriving, finding their people, and developing confidence they might never have discovered while still living under their parents' roof.
Think about the person who leaves a comfortable job to pursue something new. The first few months in a new job can be brutal. You don't know the systems, the people, or whether you've made the right decision. Then one day you realize you know what you're doing. You have work friends, confidence, routines, and a sense of belonging. You feel like you fit.
Even relationships go through this. The butterflies and excitement of something new eventually give way to something far less flashy, but potentially much richer. Knowing, trusting, and building a life with someone is a beautiful thing. Finding comfort in the ordinary instead of constantly needing the extraordinary. That's a gift.
That's probably what I'm appreciating most about Grandpa's move right now. For so long, I was focused on what we were losing. The house, the memories it was attached to, the familiar routines, and the comfort of knowing exactly where my favorite guy was and what his world looked like. I haven't even seen his new place yet...his setting is still but a stranger to me.
Now, instead of hoping he will be happy there, I get to hear about him actually being happy there! What a freaking gift!!! Meanwhile, the roses are slowly drying out, and I'm fortunate that I'll still get to enjoy them in their next chapter.
I'm still going to miss the house like crazy but hearing how happy Grandpa is makes it a whole lot easier to let go.
