Today is Thanksgiving day, and as I have been doing for the last 35 years or so, I will go to visit my Mother. This year, we won't be having Thanksgiving dinner at Mom's house, we'll be going to a relatives home and enjoying the feast with the extended family. For all but a handful of my 54 years, Mom put the Thanksgiving feast on the table. The clan converged on that tiny little house and 20 of us would squeeze around the table that was only designed to seat 10. Of course, the kids would sit at the card table in the living room and their mom's would keep an eye on them. I sat at that card table myself when I was a boy.
I lost my Dad in May of this year. My sister and I are trying to help my Mom decide what to do with that tiny house that they lived in since I was 6 months old. Still in the door jambs are the pencil marks that measure our height as my sister and I grew up. Inside of the closet door of the back bedroom is my sister's crayon masterpiece. The outside of that door was repainted a long time ago but no one looks at the inside of the door, right? That cabinet door under the kitchen sink still comes off the hinges when you pull it open. It's done that for over 40 years, since I was a 12 year old running through the kitchen and ripped it off it's hinges because I wasn't watching where I was going.
And there, in the dining room, is that rickety old dining room table, where so many thanksgiving dinners had been served in years past
Is selling a house personal? You betcha it is.
I urge my colleagues to remember their own family histories when they visit their clients. Yes, one must be rational, one must offer the home at a price that will allow the seller to reach what could be a very difficult conclusion. Just do it with tact, love, and sensitivity. It may be a business to you but that house is somebody's living, breathing home. All those little defects don't add any value to my Mom's house but they make that it priceless in her (and my) eyes.
Please, remember where you came from.
Peace.
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