We just sold our house. Well, we've accepted an offer anyway. We don't even live there, thanks to having to chase provision for dd1, and haven't love there for oooh, 5 years or so.
We couldn't ever move back (wrong county) and have always rented it out. And now we've sold it as could do with freeing up some cash (although there's precious little equity in it).
It feels odd. That was the house we moved into with a baby dd1 when we can back from abroad. We chose it as it was near the school we were going to send dd1 to (before life intervened - best laid plans!). It was the first house we bought as a family home. It was the house where all those ideals were going to happen (you know, the cheeky smily toddler romping through meadows in white clothes ideals 
).
It shouldn't matter that we've sold it. And my he'd tells me it doesn't. But there's a small part of me sad. I guess it's another step in the grieving process; another little thing along the path of SN.
I really didn't expect to feel like this. It has always irked me that we had to move away, and that we can no longer love were we would choose to live (wouldn't get the same provision for dd1. Absolutely no way). So I thought I would feel better if we sold it - no more irritation that we can't love in our own house, iyswim? But it feels more final. Another step away from the life we would have had if it wasn't for bastard autism.
Still, on the bright side, hopefully I can finally get something resembling a kitchen in our 'new' house (that we've owned for nearly 2 years now...). Well, once we've actually sold it I can, anyway!