Congratulations?

On November 30, just before closing Sandy's estate, I signed the quitclaim deed that gave me sole ownership of the house. I thought of it as removing Sandy's name from the title, but in the eyes of bureaucracy, it is a property transfer like any other. 

Apparently, there are companies that track home sales, introducing themselves to people they hope to have as new customers. It's not an unethical practice. In fact, it's sort of the modern equivalent of the Welcome Wagon. Now, instead of a well-dressed suburban woman arriving at the door with a basket of goodies from local merchants, there are coupons, flyers, and catalogs in the mail. And if I really had just moved into a new home, I might be pleased every time something congratulates me on my move.

But I didn't just move into a new home. If anything, I lost part of my home, the feeling of security and comfort and routine. The belief that I was safe and things would be okay, no matter where we were, as long as we were together.

Many many years ago, when I was antsy to get back to the house from some event, Sandy said, "I'd like to think that you're always home when you're with me." It was incredibly corny, and very sweet, and became more and more true over time. In fact, sometimes now, when I'm sitting in the living room or lying in bed, I'll think, "I can't wait to get home." And then I despair when I realize that, technically, I'm already there.

It was 17 years ago this month that I moved into this house. Three years later, Sandy was living here, too, and we added her to the title. Neither time do I recall receiving things that congratulated me or us on our new home. But now, when the change is not a cause for celebration, now I receive ads from plumbers and catalogs from home-furnishings stores and who knows what else is on the way. All broadcasting this change in my life, wishing me well as I enter another chapter, and asking if I'll please keep them in mind should something go wrong/I want to redecorate/I have money to spend in this bad economy.

When the first one came, I thought it was a mistake. It took me a couple of days, and a few more "mistakes" to realize that the real estate transfer has made its way into some public record that advertisers access. And that it looks to them like any other.

The congratulatory tone hurts, of course, but what also hurts is the thought that, in fact, I have moved, in some ways. I'm in a new world, a new reality, and the transition is much harder than finding a local grocery store or finding a plumber. I'm fumbling my way to finding new paths and new purpose, and — someday, I hope — a new feeling of security and home.