A Door Closing

 I have a contract on Dad's house.  We went with a company that will buy for cash immediately, as is.  I met with them yesterday at Dad's place.  They offered far less than I'd hoped for, but we were finally able to find a common ground in the offer.  The closing will be January 30.  

It was strange, knowing that this would be the last time I would be at Dad's.  Part of me wanted to take everything with me, to not let anything that he owned go elsewhere.  But when I thought about it, I knew that it didn't make sense.  We took a few things from the house - some plates, small appliances, a picture of me, the heavy candy bowl.  There's more that I probably would have taken but so I couldn't let myself do that.  I'm definitely my dad's kid, in that I'm more than a bit of a pack rat.  I've already got too much taking up space here.  I don't need more.  That's what I'm telling myself anyway.

Today, I'm wondering if I'd made the right choice with selling.  But I also know that a part of me is just dealing with nostalgia and fear.  In the grand scheme of things, this is the right choice for me.  I don't need to keep things.  I've got my memories of Dad over the years.  That's what's more important.  And a few things that I did bring home.

I'm not sure why, but I also took a set of keys that were Dad's.  I don't think any of them are to anything current.  But somehow, having these makes me feel a bit better.  I'm odd, yes.  

So I'm saying good-bye and getting one of the items off of my list. Which is what I need to be doing.

One of the last pictures I have of Dad
Outside of his house