“Remoted” Day 349 (Sunday)

On this date in 2013, the closing was held and “The 402,” my home in Clarksville, Tennessee, left my possession and became someone else’s. The house was a 1,200 square foot ranch on a hill. It had a wooded back yard, hardwood floors, and a full basement. The steep driveway that terrified my friends reminded me of the hills of Fitchburg where I grew up.

The two moving cubes had left the yard, bound for a storage yard in New England until I could provide a delivery address. The spare keys to the door locks were neatly laid out on the kitchen counter, along with the gadget to rekey the locks and the second set of keys. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in the refrigerator for the new owner. 

The 402, my former home in Tennessee.

Daily essentials and minimal clothing were packed in the car, along with the two dogs, their crates, and all the related doggy paraphernalia. Mom and Butch had driven from Massachusetts the previous week to help with the packing and moving, and after waiting for it to be time to lock the doors, we drove to the closing site. Once done at the closing, we would roll out of Tennessee and back to Massachusetts.

When I arrived at the office for the closing, there was much chit chat and a level of excitement and sadness. My part was quick – a couple papers to sign and hand over the keys. A ring with two keys was removed from my main key ring and handed to the realtor during conversation and goodbyes. There were hugs and well wishes and off I went in our two-car caravan along the Interstate.

Mom rode with me in my car and Butch was in his car. About 2.5 hours and 175 miles into the journey, my cell phone rang. It seemed there was a problem with the keys and the new owner couldn’t unlock the doors to the house. After checking the keys that remained on the ring with the car key, my heart sank and my stomach flipped. The house keys were still on the key ring, but the keys to the padlocks on the two storage cubes were not. I had one job for the closing, and had screwed it up.

Remembering the excitement of leaving the closing when I bought the house, and driving over to my just-purchased home, I really felt horrible that my buyer was missing out on that moment. Luckily, the realtors’ lockbox was still on the door, so the house could be opened, but not until the next morning. This meant I didn’t need to drive back to Clarksville, but I still really felt awful. When we stopped for a meal, I bought a card to send with the keys to the new owner.  

I still miss that house in Tennessee. From first sight, I knew it was the perfect house for me. It was the right size and layout, with a no-maintenance wooded backyard with turkeys and deer and the occasional red fox, and a picture window in the dining room to take in the view. There was a guest room, office, and a living room with a picture window facing a sloping lawn with a hill covered in periwinkle and a huge old tree where an owl often hung out.

We arrived back in Massachusetts a couple days into March, where I faced the huge unknown of the next segment of my life’s story. The plan was to stay in my old room at Mom’s, for what we figured would be several months while I found a job and place to live. Nothing went according to plan. At the same time that it felt like the right next step, I also wondered daily if my sanity should be checked. I still wonder this.