Saying goodbye to a loved one is never easy. It’s a painful experience that leaves a void in our hearts and lives. This year, my granddad passed away, leaving behind a beautiful legacy and a family that adored him. His funeral was packed with people who came to pay their respects and share their memories of a man who was deeply loved by his family and community.
The loss of my granddad was devastating, and it still feels surreal. I find myself wanting to call him and share stories with him every day. If you ever need to hear a story about a cheeky Scouse scamp, I’m your person.
But it wasn’t just my granddad that we lost. Our nan passed away in 2014, and now, the family home that had been a central part of our lives for over 40 years is also slipping away from us. As someone who has moved 22 times in 35 years, this terraced house in Bootle was the only permanent “family home” I’ve ever known. And soon, it won’t be ours anymore.
It’s a strange and wild feeling, isn’t it? This isn’t just a house on a street, it’s the place where our memories were made. It’s where we walked to primary school, and it’s right next to the best chippy in Liverpool (in my opinion, at least).
We celebrated births, weddings, and achievements in this house. We watched game shows and the Friends finale here. We had family Christmases here, and even after I moved to Scotland, I would come back home every few months to spend time with my family in my grandparent’s house.
It wasn’t just a house, it was the keeper of our lives, the home of our hearts. And now, we have to sell it. It’s unfathomable. It feels like a betrayal to my grandparents.
But why does it feel that way? It’s not a home without them, and it can never be replicated now that they’re gone.
I spoke with Bianca Neumann, Clinical Director of Grief and Bereavement at the national palliative care and bereavement charity, Sue Ryder, to understand more about this feeling.
Neumann explains, “For many of us, a house is not just bricks and mortar. It’s a memory box of life events, conversations, sounds, and smells. Deciding to sell it can evoke deep feelings of guilt for ‘erasing’ these special times and closing a chapter that we shared with the person who has passed away.”
Closing a chapter is exactly what it feels like. We’re not ready to let go, but the chapter has ended.
She adds, “The sale of the home can feel like a secondary loss, and that closure can bring a new wave of pain, especially if you are solely responsible for the decision. You might also worry about what the person who has passed away would think, or feel like you’re ‘moving on.’ But it’s normal to fear change when grief has taken hold and you’re feeling overwhelmed.”
Neumann reminds us that no matter how huge the physical reminders of our loved ones’ lives feel, the real memories cannot be held. “Many people feel like they are being dishonorable and betraying the deceased by selling their home. But it’s important to remember that honoring them is more about carrying forward their values, sayings, or rituals. This is the thread that keeps our relationship with them alive, and these continuing bonds are often a healthy and enduring part of the grieving process.”
She urges us to separate our memory of our loved one from the home and the belongings inside it, saying, “Acknowledge your grief and remember that you may feel guilty because you loved them. But you are not selling that love to the highest bidder. You will continue to hold it dear, along with the cherished memories of your relationship. Separating the memory from the object may help relieve the pressure and encourage you to not be so hard on yourself.”
If you still don’t feel ready to move on, Neumann advises that a ceremony of sorts may help. “It may also be helpful to organize a formal goodbye, allowing you to ease the pain of letting go. For example, visiting each room and recalling happy memories or leaving behind a memento such as a flower before you close the door for the last time. Others may find comfort from sleeping in the house one last
