THE FOR SALE SIGN

Still in my pajamas, I wandered outside yesterday as soon as I saw the pick up filled with sign poles parked in the driveway. By the time I reached the street, the men, one black and one white, had got the post in and were tamping down the ground around it.

Seeing the sign up made the selling of our house seem more real. But I felt a little sad because the men had found the perfect spot to plant the sign—the place I’d intended to tell them about—the one where cars coming from both directions would see it.

Now that I have had time to ponder, I realize that of course I didn’t need to tell these men where to put the sign. After all, it’s their business. But what made me sad was the realization, I guess, that I was no longer needed here. The sign is the sign that it’s time for us to go. The place can live without us now. It’s time to give up control and the fatherly and motherly feelings of thinking we need to take care of things.

This is letting go.

But, as I think about it, it must happen before the next stage can begin, which is what, I’ll bet, I’ll be writing about from now on—at least for awhile.