I don't really have much more to say about that, but I felt it ought to be noted. Selling my childhood home was not as traumatic as it might have been, I suppose. The only thing that still preys on my mind is the question of where to stay when we visit New York City, and as I've noted before, we have many friends who are apparently delighted to host us.
My younger brother Josh has actually been to the house since the new family (friends of his) moved in, and he says that they've redone a lot. I'm not surprised; I remember as I was growing up that there was a lot of plaster peeling off the walls and ceilings, and that the doors seemed old and creaky. In many ways, after they bought the house, my parents kludged together various repairs so it would be livable.
So perhaps it wasn't the nicest house in the world, but I loved it. And I know that I have no need for it anymore, and haven't for a while. Yet, some part of me wishes that the house had been preserved in its previous condition, to be used as the Michael A. Burstein Historic Site when the time is right.