My mum chose to move after living in the same house since 1965 (over 40 years). She was finding the garden maintenance too hard; I was too far away; and the house had so many memories - the recent ones of my dad and my mum’s brother dying (my mum cared for them both through terminal illnesses) were very hard to bear.
I think I fretted about the move than my mum did!
In the end she was fine because she was irrepressibly forward-looking. She was of course incredibly sad to lose the place that sheltered and triggered so many memories of a long and happy family let life. But she knew the time was right to move.
She was determined to downsize and she moved to a house near my own. It was utterly perfect and we had six happy years “in each other’s pockets” before she passed away.
Downsizing is tough because you do have to make “keep or chuck” choices. I did absolutely love going through everything with her - lots of tears and laughter over the silly and surprising things she’d kept. A lot of stuff she’d forgotten about herself! It was cathartic for mum though, to go through all these things with me and linger over memories that could be half-forgotten or clear as day - mundane, beautiful or painful to recollect .
Even deciding to get rid of the huge family dining table was traumatic - my newly-wed parents had bought it for £5 in the 60’s and then restored it. Every ding and scratch on that table told a story - every birthday party, Christmas dinner, Sunday lunch, Monopoly game, homework crisis, and annual tax return argument - they had all played out on that table.
I took photos of absolutely everything. The garden at dawn. The view from the kitchen window. Every angle of my little childhood bedroom. The workshop where my dad’s tools were kept (everything in the workshop had to go).
I took cuttings of soooo many plants for my own garden! And I sobbed for an hour when, a year after my mum died, my dh accidentally pulled one up believing it to be dead (it was March; just waiting for spring).
I wish I could have bottled the smell of my mum cooking marmalade, the sound of the push-mower in the garden, the musty smell of sawdust wood in my dad’s workshop.
I wish I could have kept everything.
I wish I could have saved my mum from her distress about the “flip” that the new owner did on the property prior to selling it for a profit. (My mum was so upset and annoyed!)
But neither mum or I regretted the move in the end. It was time to move on. I thought it would be an Epilogue to her long life, but really it was a new chapter and after the years of grief and stress she thrived.
My mum settled into her new home, planted some fruit trees in her new tiny garden, charmed her new neighbours , joined the Church and an art class. She got a bus pass and relinquished her car. She came round to me for dinner almost every day. During covid lockdown we had the pleasure of seeing her regularly (would have been impossible if she was in her old home).
So it worked out for the best.
The tears are normal OP - the feelings of loss and the fear of change are normal too, especially as we get older. But just think about what a move might offer if you approach it with hope and optimism. It doesn’t have to be an Epilogue to your family life; it can be that new chapter. Who knows what it could bring?