Some places you live become attached to you. In a number of important ways the apartment I just moved out of will have bound itself to my life forever.
I moved into the place under bad circumstances. A family that my then wife and I lived with began having uncontrollable problems with their two teenage sons. It became a matter of safety to move out.
While just starting college and working any job I could find to bring in money we barely had enough money to move in. I hated the place instantly. It was too small, it was cramped, it seemed noisy and you could hear the neighbor's plumbing. By that I mean when the neighbor took a shower or flushed the toilet it sounded as if it was all taking place in my living room.
As much as I hated the place it was pretty cheap, and had mostly mature neighbors. No cabana, club house or workout room that usually brings in younger couples or high school buds moving out on their own for the first time. While not an ideal place to live, it was time to use this place as a spring board to saving money for a home.
After about three years of living there and beginning to get ahead financially, I was suddenly forced to lose all of the ground I had made. Without getting into a great amount of detail my then-wife decided that she would be happier with another guy, another place, another something...in short, she left. While she insisted that she was wanting to "work it out" and "waiting to see how she felt" I painfully left the door open for her to come back and we'd work through the trust and adultery issues. As a result, I came home one day and found the apartment cleaned out and I was later served with divorce papers. Apparently her "working it out" meant just finding enough helpers to help take everything. Needless to say I found myself without any furniture and without any money overnight.
While I was working through this whole thing my father was battling cancer, and losing. I remember being with him the night he slipped into a coma. We were talking about my situation, not his. He told me it was time to just take care of myself and move on. Good advice. He did finally pass away on my birthday a few days later.
I sat in my apartment pretty stunned. As someone who can, at times, resist change I was finding myself being confronted with more than I could handle. My aunt had just purchased new furniture and agreed to give me everything I needed. Her old furnishings (were about two years old and included a leather couch) were made available to me. My brother gave me a bed. A month hadn't gone by and I was sitting in a furnished apartment again...this time with better quality furnishings than of those that walked out the month before.
So now that I've bummed you out I should let you know that a hand full of incredible friends and supportive people, and of course a merciful God brought me through the time with some mental renewal. While getting the bank account to a point where having a house became possible, it did take about six more years...six more years in that little apartment.
So when I moved out I wondered what type of feelings I would have when I closed the front door for the last time. I guess like painful and challenging times in your life you sort of look back on them with some level of strength but wouldn't be willing to go through it again.
To sum it all up, I won't lie to you. I don't miss it at all.