Before we were even ready to put our house on the market (see previous post), a realtor contacted us with an offer sight-unseen. And then, it seemed like everything just started happening in an instant, out of our control.
At first we didn’t give the realtor much thought, but we continued working on getting ready to list the house and move out at some point. But the realtor was persistent and ended up bringing us back the number we wanted to see, so we accepted! We honestly couldn’t believe this was happening. We sold our ginormous home in the middle of a pandemic in Small Town USA for exactly what we needed to, and we hadn’t even listed it yet!
There was only one explanation for this. We were being led to do this. We were on the right path, making the right decisions for our family, and everything was coming together for us. This was without a doubt a “God Thing”, so we just went with it.
We had 30 days until closing, which enabled us to spend one last Christmas in our home (my stipulation for selling at this time), but that meant we had to move out almost immediately after the holidays. The house was still full of *so* much stuff, even after years of minimizing our possessions, so while my husband worked morning to night preparing the other house for move-in day, I tried to pack up our entire house with the help of my toddler. It was crazzzzzy. For all of us.
The house we were going to move back to “at some point” was literally torn down to the studs. In the midst of doing our expected renovations, we discovered that the house was Pre-Civil War era, and needed structural repairs, new plumbing, new electric, and so much more. Basically every room needed completely rebuilt. Oh, and the clock was ticking. At this point we had about two weeks to be completely moved out and into our new house place.
I started freaking out, especially when we got to the one week mark. I still had so much to pack, and my husband couldn’t help because he was focused on making sure we had somewhere to go. We were not even close to meeting either of these deadlines. So I decided to rent a U-haul for the week. This way, I could pack and load at the same time, and even if I didn’t get it all moved into the new house, it would at least be out of our old one and stored in one place. I was feeling good about my decision, and headed out to run a few errands, dropping off some donations and such the morning I was to pick up our rental truck. And then I fell.
I stepped out of the car in my driveway to check on something, and immediately went down. It happened so fast I didn’t even know what happened. But ultimately the ice won, and I lost. I couldn’t stand up. Luckily, my toddler was asleep in his car seat and the car was still on and heated, and I had grabbed my phone. I called my husband (who was at that exact moment moving a large granite countertop with my brother) and my mom, who was on her way shortly to help me pick up the truck. She made it over right away and covered me with a blanket as I stubbornly laid in the ice waiting for my husband. I was sure he could help me get into the car, but when he got there he confirmed that I was being ridiculous and he called 911 immediately. So, after lying on the ice for over 30 minutes, the EMTs got me loaded on the stretcher and into the ambulance, doing so on a sheet of ice on a downward slope in my driveway. It was terrifying, but they did an excellent job and I was safely transported to the hospital.
So we had exactly one week to pack and move into a house that had to be completely repaired and renovated, and now I’m in an ambulance on my way to the hospital. I knew I had broken something, because the pain wasn’t at a joint, but rather in the shin/calf area. This was not good. Then it got even worse. I found out that I needed to have surgery the next day, and that I would be in a wheelchair for at least 5-6 weeks before I could even bear weight with a walking boot. GREAT. How the heck was I going to move like that? Not to mention the house we were moving out of was 4 stories, and the house we were moving into had stairs to enter the main floor, and my bedroom and bathroom were both on the second floor.
At this point, I knew that I needed to trust that things would have to just go on without me. So my husband stayed at the hospital with me, my toddler stayed at my mom’s and we just tried to focus on what we could control in that moment. Our closing got pushed out a little bit due to something else we couldn’t control, which gave us a little extra time to get the house cleared out. Luckily we have an amazing church family, who came together and helped my husband pack and move almost everything in one morning… to my mom’s house.
Yep, I did what every self-respecting 39 year old woman with her own family would do at this point. I moved us (and our entire house of belongings) into my mom’s house.