I just got back to the city and it’s almost 2am and I can’t sleep and all I can think about is the farmhouse, my farmhouse, and I spent the whole weekend there after everyone else left and it’s just gone now, sold, and the new people take possession Monday morning and I just walked around touching everything. I mean everything. The worn spot on the kitchen floorboards where I always stood to make breakfast and the doorframe in the living room where we marked the kids’ heights every year and the old wood stove that hasn’t worked right in decades but it was always there, just sitting there, and I even ran my hand along the outside of the barn and the chicken coop even though there haven’t been chickens in twenty years. And I just kept thinking about all of it and all the time that passed there and all the things I did and didn’t do, and all the things I said and didn’t say, and the kids were grown and gone for years and years and it was just me and sometimes my husband but mostly just me rattling around in that big empty house and I always told myself I needed to keep it for them, for the grandkids, for family gatherings, but we hardly ever went back and the kids all live so far away now anyway and it was just getting to be too much and the taxes in the county are insane and the roof needs work and I just couldn’t keep throwing money at it anymore but it still feels like a betrayal somehow, like I gave up on something important. And the new owners, they’re a young couple with two little ones and they’re so excited and they want to put in a new kitchen and rip out the old bathroom and paint everything white and I just smiled and nodded and told them it was a wonderful idea but inside I was just crumbling because it won’t be MY farmhouse anymore, it won’t even be recognizable after they’re done with it and it feels like I erased all those years, all those memories, all those arguments and scraped knees and holiday meals and late nights staring out the window at the snow coming down and thinking about my life and what I wanted and what I actually got and it’s not really anyone’s fault and I know I had to sell it but I just feel so gutted and empty and like I should have fought harder to keep it even though I don’t even know what that means, how I could have fought, or what I would have done with it, and it's not like the kids want it anyway, they like their city life, and I like my city life too but it’s not the same, it’s not home in the same way and now it’s just gone and I feel this ache in my chest that just won't go away and I just keep seeing the light hit the old wood on the stairs one last time and thinking about everything and everyone.