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Tom Kelly
Tom Kelly
The Real Estate Adviser

May 15, 1998

Letting go: when it's time to sell the family home

By TOM KELLY
The Real Estate Advisor

LOS ANGELES -- How do you deal with 46 years of memories and possessions?

My mother, at least on the surface, chose to take the matter-of-fact road as we began moving her out of the old family home, the two story-stucco structure that became more than an anchor of stability for family and friends: Call the seven kids, have them come and get what they wanted, give the rest to charity, close the door and keep moving.

Don't look back.

The decision was very unKelly-like. Certainly there would be an appropriate prayer of thanks and gratitude, perhaps supplied by the parish priest or a popular Jesuit from the local high school that the five Kelly boys attended.

Clearly there would be another backyard Bar-B-Q, a fitting send off to the home that was headquarters for so many celebrations, tears, reunions, broken bones and broken hearts. I left blood (is that one of the stains?) and sweat on its basketball court, hid cigars in the garage as a teen and, 24 years ago, stood shaking nervously in an upstairs bedroom over the thought of actually losing my bachelorhood as our wedding rehearsal dinner guests arrived at sunset in the festive garden below.

Mom could not, and would not, host "another session" without my father -- especially one down this memory lane. That sentimental journey would have to wait -- perhaps even after the final stages of Parkinson's have taken my dad, her now gentle partner of 55 years. Then, of course, he would be with her only in spirit, which may be the only way she could digest moving from this special place.

Mom had made up her mind that there was simply too much physical work to do now to deal with feelings and emotions. This had always been her way, and now she, again at age 78, needed to lean on her way despite the expectations.

My dad, 83, never wanted to leave this house. While several of his buddies headed to the safer beach cities to be closer to their grown kids, there was no doubt Bob Kelly "was staying put." Really, what could be better than this?

It was less than three blocks to church and he made an appearance there virtually every day. It also was about a driver and a nine-iron to the country club where he enjoyed the food ("best chow around") and people ("Bud Rice said to say hello") more than golf ("I'm still lousy").

The subject of moving never surfaced when the kids lived at home.

However, it's been 20 years since there have been more than two full-time residents. I followed older brothers Mike and Bill to the Northwest 23 years ago while Pat, Kate and Maureen have called the Bay Area home for nearly as long. The youngest, John, is the only sibling who stayed. Had he known the number of family members that would be seeking sun and relaxation at his Hermosa Beach home, he probably would have relocated elsewhere.

The most less-than-subtle hint at moving my parents out of the family home occurred five years ago. Some of the siblings suggested the folks get an electric gate and floodlights to guard the yard and driveway. The house has been burgled a few times in recent years, including one ugly night when the car was stolen.

But as much as I would like to see my folks move, it did not surprise me that they stayed. You could see it in my dad's face -- the place was crammed with too many memories for him to pack off to an unknown place. And, probably most importantly, it was still the perfect ball yard for the grand kids who arrived for vacations and holidays like we did a generation ago.

When it became clear that my dad would not be coming home from a local nursing home, the size, maintenance and the emptiness of the family house became too overwhelming for my mom. After my sister and I took our families home a few days after a Christmas visit, Mom said it was time to move on.

I was relieved and pleased she had made the choice. I believe it's far easier to leave the family home when both spouses are still alive. That way, all involved can at least begin to grieve the loss of the home before the overwhelming loss of a partner or parent.

The last of the heavy furniture had been moved to my Mom's new address -- a nearby condominium. I pulled the silverware tray from its familiar place in the kitchen drawer and placed it on the floor of the rental car. I had time for one more shuttle trip to the new place before visiting my dad in the nursing home, then it was on to the airport.

I walked out the front door, turned around on the lawn that hosted so many football games and stared up at the house one last time. I thought of the countless number, and variety, of people who said goodbye on this exact spot in the past 46 years.

I also thought of my dad and how he never really left here. He did not sell and move to the beach. And I knew, very clearly, why he never wanted to say goodbye.



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