Everyone tells a newly bereaved spouse not to make major decisions for a year. I understood this when I lost James, my husband, but I made many. I had to. One was not to sell my home in the community I loved.
We had renovated the four bedroom townhouse from top to bottom and finished it fifteen months before James died. I adored it — especially the big, gourmet kitchen. We each had custom-designed offices as well. The location was ideal in the heart of Port Moody, with everything within walking distance. So, despite the expense of running the house and having too much space for one, I chose to stay.
I quickly solved the cost of living there by opening an Airbnb as my strata bylaws allowed it. I wasn’t using the third floor at all and I turned it into a sunny suite for my guests. I had full occupancy from day one and discovered I loved having visitors from all over the world. The unexpected bonus was that I had to keep the house spotless and the patio garden beautiful — Airbnb kept me engaged, perhaps when I wanted to withdraw, and paid more than the high property taxes.
Then one day, eighteen months after James died, everything changed. Unexpectedly, the small strata changed their bylaws at a nasty AGM, and I couldn’t continue my Airbnb. I strongly resisted moving but knew the red-hot buyers’ market was a good time.
So I made two lists over several days, adding to them as ideas came to me:
- The reasons why I should stay;
- Good reasons to move now.
The first had over twenty items, the second had only two. After consulting my realtor about the asking price, I took several long walks to think. On the second walk, I saw that the long list contained only emotional items and the second had objective reasons. After more thought, I realized the latter outweighed all twenty reasons to stay.
Firstly I was a 72-year-old trying to live in a four storey-home with stairs that was costly to run. If I moved, I had to downsize by over 75 percent, no small task. But at eighty, would I still be able to do that alone? Would I still be able to cope with a move to Penticton? Would I still be driving?
The second reason to leave was one I had not considered — I wanted to move to join my family and five-year-old granddaughter in a new community where I knew only one person of my generation. I would have to build a new social circle from scratch.
I had to be healthy and active achieve both these successfully. Here was my decision writ large!
In mid-June, my home of thirty years went on the market and I flew up to Penticton to house-hunt. Over that weekend I found my new home, and my old home sold, well over-asking, in two days. Done! It felt marvellous because the right decision usually does, and I had money in the bank.
Now I’m writing this post in Penticton enjoying the gloriously sunny, dry fall and a few new friends. Looking back, the solo downsizing and move was brutal, so I doubt I could’ve managed it in five or eight years time. Today, I still have the energy to walk every day, explore my new region, and meet people.
The moral of this story is that emotions get in the way of big decisions, regardless of the reason and when. Be careful you are not fooled as easily as I nearly was.
© Julie H. Ferguson 2018
Vancouver-based Julie H. Ferguson is an addicted traveler who is intensely interested in the history and culture of foreign lands, as well as Canada, and her stories and images reflect this focus. Julie never leaves home without her cameras and voice recorder, always looking for the colour and sounds that captivate readers everywhere.
A non-fiction writer for forty-five years and an avid photographer, Julie is also the author of twenty-six books, including four about Canadian naval and church history, six for writers, and sixteen photo portfolios. Her articles have appeared in national and international markets, both print and online, and her images have been exhibited, published, and sold.