On the last day when we left Provence we went to our old house for the last time to pack up a few things we had left there as well as pick up our cat. It was really strange to walk in the house and see the new owners there with, already, a few of their things scattered about. The couple seemed very happy with the house and especially loved the light. It was sort of like a WWII scenerio as the man was English, the woman German, Maurice French and me American–and here we are about seventy years later all at ease with each other. I think they will be very happy there as we were for almost eight years.
The German lady told me that she had a lady in her life who had been like a second mother. She saw her often and helped her as she got older and finally ended up in a retirement home. To her surprise, when the lady died, she was left some money. How much? Enough to help buy our house. I think she was getting repaid for her kindness to her second mother for all of those years. Also, the final papers were signed and the house became theirs on the birthday of the English man. It all seems like it was meant to be.
We sort of thought that as we were leaving that we would feel really sad and that there might even be a few tears but that didn’t happen. I just remembered how happy the new owners were, how much they loved the light in the house and was ready to turn the page. It was a long drive back to Paris but there wasn’t any heaviness of heart, just a looking forward to what was next. By the way, they said they would be glad to do a little exchange any time we wanted-they would stay in our Paris apartment and we could stay in the house. It sounds sort of fun but it sure will be strange not to have our things there.