The Last Refuge.

I recently (finally!) sold a house that I've had for several years but haven't lived in.  It was a house from a previous relationship, in an area outside of Seattle where I didn't want to live anymore.  I rented it for a few years because the housing market in the area was not good, but this last summer I put it on the market.  I had some terrible problems with the renters, who were supposed to be friends of mine, and in the end, I really hated the house.  It took eight months, a lot of work, and, I'm not too proud to admit, some praying and tears, before it finally sold.  There was much celebration!  The funny thing, though, was that there was also a little sadness.

Even though I hadn't lived there for three years, and didn't want to live there ever again, I still knew in some small part of me that the house was there, just in case we needed it.  We had a place that belonged to me where we could go in case of emergency, or, alternatively, where a friend could stay if there was need.  A last refuge. And now, that last refuge was gone.

I realized that I was feeling the same way I had felt when I sold my Dad's house a few years ago; a little empty, a little sad.  Even though I would not have wanted to live there again, especially since the house was practically falling down around our ears, the house was still there.  It had been there all my life; a place to return to after school each day, a place to return to every summer during college, a place to live if absolutely necessary when I was a young adult.  It was a last refuge - until I sold it, and the new owners tore it down.  But I still miss it, and I was sad for a long time that it was gone.

It's hard to give up that feeling of always having a safe place to go back to, represented by my childhood home, or a house that no one could deny belonged to me.  I love our rental house, but all I have now that I actually own is my car!  Perhaps we never stop looking for that haven, that place where we were always welcome.  I miss having that, just like I miss having parents, who are the physical representation of our last refuge.