Closing (Part 2)

Last Tuesday, we closed on the sale of our West Town loft. The closing was exactly 103 days after we listed it with our amazing realtor Caren (who is beyond great, so you should enlist her help if you're buying or selling anything larger than a puppy or a station wagon [which I don't think exist any more, sorry]). And even though the buyer was kind of an asshat, it's over and we'll never have to deal with him again!

Closing on the loft was bittersweet. We're really happy to be in our new little house--in fact I spent this afternoon planting flowers and playing catch with Roo--but it's hard to close the door on seven years of life in a 700 (ish) square foot shoebox that you and your husband had made your own. In fact, we made it so much our own that it was kind of remarkable. T. put together these photos to show the difference (befores are on the left and afters are on the right):

The previous owner (or her cousin [or sister? I can't remember] who was renting the place) was a bit of a clutter-bug

The bedroom

The entryway (with a custom built bookshelf by John Power--we hope he'll do a few for the new house...)

The kitchen: the biggest and best transformation. (I love the new house but still really miss my kitchen)

Our living room and that stupid mirror that was almost impossible to give away (for freeeeee)

We moved out a month before the closing, and Trevor and I both went by a couple of times to clean up and make sure that everything was fine. It still smelled like our place, and it still felt like our place. But it really wasn't.

Trevor and I were dating when we bought the loft, and while we lived there, we got married, we watched Henry grow from a 6 month old puppy into a 6 year old goofball, and then we lost Henry; but a year later we got Roo--all while living there, at the corner of Grand Avenue and Noble Street in West Town, up the street from Burger Baron, two blocks away from the #9 Ashland Avenue bus stop.

After we'd moved out, my mom verbalized the feeling I'd been having such a hard time identifying. She said that when you make a move like this, there's a transition period during which you feel a bit homeless: the home you had isn't yours anymore, and the home you've moved into isn't quite yours yet, either, even though you have the papers to prove that the title is in your name.

Change this big is hard, and I don't think I've quite accepted the reality that I'll never see my loft again, at least not the way I remember it. And I love the way I remember it: books to the ceiling, art on the walls, a view of the other side of our building that felt both Rear Window-ish as well as tucked away and quiet. Plus, we were totally and completely safe in the case of a zombie apocalypse (bars on the alley windows, twelve inch thick brick walls, double fire doors in the hallway, and a twelve foot high gate around the parking lot. I mean, bring it on, zombie jerks!)

But we're starting on new memories out here, and have two nice consolations: one mortgage instead of two, and a closing sale check in the bank. I can live with that.

So although I will really, really, really miss things like this:

 
I can also live with this: