Which Do I Miss More: My House or My Husband?

Which Do I Miss More: My House or My Husband?

My house is under contract. I’m finding my home harder to let go of than my husband.

I guess that makes sense. The house was a better investment and often a better companion than Edgar was when he was drinking.

Plus, the house is mine. I bought it before I got married. I’ve thought how much buying that place was like getting married, actually; I searched for years before finding just the right house to commit to, and as closing day approached I asked myself repeatedly if it was the right decision.

Over the years my relationship with the house deepened as I’d hoped my marriage would. I loved it more as time passed and I found I could depend on it to shelter me from the elements, even the angry ones like hurricanes; hold all my stuff; and get me tax breaks. I was able to relax and be myself in the house, and when Ed moved in there was room for him to do the same.

But, as Chinua Achebe put it, things fall apart. My marriage disintegrated, my business diminished, and I realized the smart thing to do was the unthinkable: sell my house. That decision was reached in much the same way I determined to divorce Ed; it wasn’t an option until suddenly I saw clearly it was the only thing to do.

On the wall of a place I frequent is a plaque reading: Let Go or Be Dragged. I let go of Ed to avoid being dragged any further into the hell of an alcoholic marriage. I’m letting go of my home to avoid being dragged down by a responsibility I can’t adequately shoulder right now.

I’m sure both are the right thing to do, but that doesn't make it any easier.