The weirdness, as I call it, is this creeping sadness. I know why it's here: my dad's house is going out of our lives. It's a final stage of good-bye. It's a milestone in grief. Blah, blah, blah. I didn't expect it, though. I'd been so focused on the process, saying along the way, since July, "Finally! The house is done...now a buyer has been found...the house passed FHA inspection, the buyer wasn't laughed out of the loan office during this hellish financial time. (I'm emphasizing to keep the rhythm here.)
"Oh, thank God, the closing day has been set."
Only...no.
We walk into the title office today, a very responsible ten minutes early, to be told the closing day has been postponed.
And, do you know, I had had one of those fleeting thoughts not twenty minutes earlier that our agent was trying to get ahold of us to tell us about some calamity that would yank the bittersweet rug out from under us...just like she had been trying to do for the last ten minutes before we walked through that door. I had this thought because we had left THOMY's phone home on the charger, and his phone number is the one our agent uses to get ahold of us. It isn't often that my great, subconcious love for irony gets realized. But, there we were, standing dumbstruck for a couple seconds in the title office before we could come-to and begin asking strained but responsible questions.
Something financial didn't come through in a timely manner for the buyer. But it *will* come through, we have been assured. He still wants the house. We just have to wait until sometime before 2pm on Monday to close on it.
Kinda sounds like a time frame the cable guy uses.
So, we wait until then. I hate this feeling of being dangled, but that's how it is. I'm just still terribly thrilled there's a buyer at all.
In the meantime, I'm going to relax from the frenzy of listing more stuff in my Etsy shop. New chatelaines, this time.
Ugh!
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