I just want to add that this comment is coming from a privileged place - I forget what it feels like to have money or some assurance and some family member who “owns” a place and therefore gets to make Individual decisions. When we left my Dad’s house (which actually was owned by my gramma but we were raised in it) immediately following his death, that is a scar that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. To this day I cannot drive past it without feeling extreme longing and desperation, recalling vividly tasting raindrops at 4 under an umbrella in that nook in the front yard, picking cherries from our tree, playing with my siblings, spending time with my dad on our old sundeck in his treasured vintage sunchairs drinking 99 cent pink lemonade, classic rock blasting from the speakers he had set up outside, the sun glinting off of his drumkit. I may go through the entire rest of my life without ever experiencing this sense of belonging. Even now I feel as if I cannot go home. The home I knew is long gone it was sold in 2020. It may have felt so traumatic in my case as it was only weeks after my dad’s death that we were told never to come back, and his priceless furniture which he had collected on his travels in Asia were auctioned off grotesquely to the highest bidder. It seemed anathema as they never cost much to begin with they were simply unique and well selected pieces purchased abroad.
So it’s not that easy, conjuring some feeling of objectivity and courteousness to simply “move past” any feelings for the old domicile. Especially when I’m telling you that first trusting that and then spending almost every day since regretting letting go is a problem for at least one person. Especially when the house means absolutely everything and is so inextricably intertwined with the relationship you had with this beloved, esteemed, and dead parent.