For Elizabeth Sherwood Long

The woman who owned our house before us died this past Sunday. I wrote this story shortly after we moved in because I was so touched by a letter the Long's daughter left for us on moving day. This past week I found in small print on our basement wall the words Jane Was Here. I'd never seen it before. Jane is the daughter who wrote the letter. Here goes:

On the day of the walk-through, I was running late. We were loading up a moving van and our closing was 3 hours away. I met Chris, my realtor, at the door and we took a quick tour of the place. It was clean, all their furniture and belongings were gone. Fine, fine, everything looks fine. We’d started upstairs and made our way down to the first floor where Chris found a note on the kitchen sink. On pieces of hotel stationery, someone had written these words:

To: The new people who will live in this house.

My daughter told me to leave a note so you would know how important this house was to us all who lived and grew up here, the last forty-three years. There were nine of us originally and almost every night we sat down to dinner in the dining room together. My dad liked to talk politics which my mom hated, but the rest of us enjoyed talking about ideas – and I think this house will remain with us as an idea.


We loved, lived and lost while living in this house, or just visiting our parents. My youngest brother kept an alligator in the bathroom on the 3rd floor. My wedding reception(s) were here. All the holidays…


Best of luck. I hope you have an emotionally enriched time living here.


Sincerely,
Jane

The year had been difficult for our little family and the note just put me over the edge. I’m sitting in my soon-to-be new kitchen crying with my real estate agent, realizing for the first time the significance of this house to the people leaving it.

Buying a home is like buying a car I suppose - a transaction that satisfies a need or want. You test drive several, do research and ultimately purchase what feels right. But you never really know what you’re going to get until you are in it everyday.

At the closing, the seller’s attorney told us more about this family. He’d grown up with some of their six children. They’d lost a son in a car accident he said, as my only child and son sat there fidgeting in his office. There were nine of us originally…

I’d first come to the house bearing low expectations. The owners were older and would be at home during the showing. We planned to move through quickly and get out. When we opened the door we thought there must be some mistake about the price. It was a beautiful old home, granted in need of much repair. The lady of the house greeted us with the hesitation that comes from having strangers parade through your home at all hours of the day. She and her husband would be sitting on the back porch with their dog.

We were trying to keep our voices down as we moved from room to room, each time surprised by how big the place was. Incredibly, it even had a third floor. The bad news? It was in bad shape. The walls looked like cork board pieced together with tape. But the rest of the house had beautiful hardwood floors, a fireplace, and moulding - all the loving details new homes don’t have. And there were the usual old-house problems. Lack of closet-space, cracking plaster, outdated everything.

We stopped to introduce ourselves to the man of the house and the dog Snoopy. We thanked them for their time and left. The key to buying a house is of course getting the best possible price. Acting casual was essential to creating the illusion of not really wanting the place. So I called my husband after driving down the street a bit and told him I’d found the place for us. We arranged to come back over the weekend.

On Saturday, we came through again. They were home again. My husband walked through while my son and I visited with the owners and their dog. We decided to make an offer that day and left it in the hands of our agent. That night at a party, we got a call about the place. The bid was too low. The husband was not enthusiastic about selling and would not agree to anything less than the price on the listing. My dad liked to talk politics…

My husband and I talked it over and decided it was worth it. They were planning an open house for Sunday and the risk of losing it was just too much for us. We agreed to meet their price and the house went under contract.

Since moving in, I’ve stayed in touch with the owners. Our new neighbors have been very welcoming but I get the sense this will never be our house entirely. In the kitchen, we found the place they’d used to measure their kids as they grew. Small pencil markings on the door frame with a name inscribed just to the right. We still get their mail, which I deliver from time to time. They moved into a small condominium complex down the street. He looked so sad the last time I came by. He misses his home.

We bought this house thinking how much work needed to be done to her old bones. We thought of everything we would change as soon as we got a chance. Make a fresh start in our new home. Now I can’t bring myself to paint over those names in the kitchen. It just doesn’t seem right.

My daughter told me to leave a note so you would know how important this house was to us all who lived and grew up here, the last forty-three years.