I close the old green wooden door for the last time, saying goodbye to a place that doesn’t even look like the one I’m familiar with anymore.

Inside, our comfy couches have disappeared, leaving nothing but the cold hard carpet to sit on. Our crowded bench is no longer so, with my special coffee machine and toaster and all other things neatly packed in the back of my car. The walls are empty, where the kid’s photos and paintings used to hang. Their bedrooms, however, had not changed in years.

We’d turned them into guest bedrooms ready for them to come and visit, with neatly made brand-new beds and furnishings, and a brand new coat of paint in each. But they never showed any interest in visits, they just left one day and only returned for and hour or two on Christmas Day most years.

But now that doesn’t matter. There’ll be no such designated area for them where we’re going. It’ll just be us, and Silver, our black and white ball of fluff, and all our stuff will somehow squeeze into that tiny unit.

Even the garden doesn’t look as it once did. In the past couple of years it began to get overgrown as we slowly lost the energy to keep up. And now that we’ve also removed every garden gnome, dog toy, and flower pot, I can’t help but think I might be saying goodbye to a house I never really knew.