Selling the farm
I likely will have written this quite a while ago. For perhaps obvious reasons, it had to wait until it was official to everyone.
The farm is no longer the Morrow's. Much of this was written on the day I found out that an offer had been accepted.
The farm is a special place. I may have covered that by now elsewhere. Who knows what I will have written in the next couple of months.
That the farm would eventually be sold was something that Hillary and I knew. We had talked fairly seriously about being the ones to buy it a couple of times. Had things been different, by this point we would have likely re-opened that discussion. It almost certainly would have gone nowhere, but we would have had the discussion.
What I'm feeling now though almost doesn't make sense to me. It's a loss and grief and something else. What's strange is that I'm pretty sure I'm feeling this more than I would had Hillary still been alive.
It's almost like I'm feeling it transitively or I'm feeling it for her. I can imagine hearing this news with us being in a good place. We'd have had a drink and toasted to the farm, to her parents, to changes, and to a new phase of life.
I would be comforting Hillary. She me, to a lesser extent and for different reasons.
I will see it again. I will ride and drive past it. I will stop there. I will stand across the road from it, my back to the house and look over the lake because that's one of the places I can feel her strongly. Or, at least I think I will be able to. Or I'd like to think that I can.
Really, it doesn't matter which of those it is.
