When we put our house on the market almost a year and a half ago, we stripped it of many personal effects. The family photos that graced most of the rooms were put away. So too were the Hummels that once belonged to Earl’s mother. And my Winnie the Pooh collection that has ever only belonged to me. It felt strange to live in a place that didn’t reflect our personalities as much, but we became used to it. The cleaning ladies liked it, since they had less to dust.
Today we boxed the last book, some to go to auction and others to wait patiently to reappear in the new home. I had the same feeling that I had when the photos disappeared: that we were losing ourselves, somewhat like the Invisible Man. By the time we leave our current home, there will be little left to indicate that Earl and I ever lived here. Except I think I’ll program the front doorbell to play “The Notre Dame Fight Song,” in honor of his daughter who went there, not as a football star, and seemed to smile whenever she rang the bell.
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