By Elisabeth Strillacci

I’m having a hard time with where home is this week. We have started the process of selling the place that was our home for 11 years, and while intellectually I know the time is right, and that it’s really not home anymore, this is hard.

I have dreamed all of my life of living at the beach. I spend summers at Cherry Grove, and in the back of my head, I held on to the idea that some day, I would find a way to end up looking out at the water, somewhere.

My husband and I actually made that dream come true when we retired (the first time) at the end of 2011. We found a small but beautiful third-floor condo that looks out over the IntraCoastal Waterway or ICW in Little River, S.C. It was, in fact, the only place we even looked at. We went out on the screened porch, fell in love and made an offer that was accepted that night.

We spent a lot of time making it our own. It was pink when we moved in — carpet, paint, curtains, you name it. We put in hardwood floors, replaced appliances, placed our favorite furniture pieces we collected together, and it became a haven, a peaceful place that was our refuge from the world.

At the time we moved in, we got to know everyone in the small development. And we were some of the very few full-time residents. For most, this was a second home. We loved it, and our dogs did, too.

But several years ago, I came back to Lexington, to help with family. I was more than happy to do it, and at the time, found a wonderful little spot to rent that, once again, I made a home for us. Jim was still working a second career in North Myrtle Beach, so I and the dogs spent time with family and stalked estate sales and antique shops and little by little, made that apartment a cozy haven as well.

Four and a half years later, the owner decided to sell the duplex. We thought about buying it, but it needed a lot of serious work and we decided not to take the leap. Instead, we found another place to rent, but at the time, it was a challenge, since the market for rentals was scarce and we only had 30 days to find it and move.

We have, during all this, realized that as much as we love the beach condo, it’s just not home anymore. In the last three years, I have been down five times, and only once for more than a night. Jim retired, again, two years ago, and he doesn’t go unless I do except for a dental appointment, and that he does in a one-day trip.

The time is right to sell — we will make some profit on our investment, and it will allow us to perhaps do some traveling we have wanted to do.

But as I sit in this place that was our home, that the two of us worked so hard to put together, it is hard to prepare to say goodbye. So many memories within these walls, so much love, so much heart.

And so it brings me back to my original question. If home is where the heart is, can I really let this go?

I can. It hurts and it’s hard but I know this is a part of life. My home is in Lexington now, and I’m OK with that. Little River is not the town it once was. A tremendous building surge has meant increased traffic and more than tripling of the population, and not everyone new is adapting to the Southern warmth. And if one of us is left alone, I think being in a community where folks know us and we know them is a happier place to be than a beach development where the residents we used to know and love are, for the most part, not here anymore.

And more than all of that, my heart, steady and true, is anywhere Jim is, and that is home.

Elisabeth Strillacci is former editor of the Salisbury Post.