It sounds like a small thing, but the hurt is big...
I went back to the island to shoot reference photos of things from my childhood to paint. Top of the list was the old family homestead, built right after the Revolutionary war. Up until we had to sell it, it was one of the oldest houses on the Island, and the oldest still in its original family. That meant an attic full of things to be "fixed later." Spinning wheels, rope beds, etc. Hanging out there was a bit like being at the historical society. One time I was out back, not too far from the old wood cook stove that got tossed into the weeds, and I found a very old childs shoe. It was leather, cut out all in one piece to be folded up and snugged together with the thong. I brought it inside to show everyone, put it down to use the bathroom, but when I went back to get it, it was gone. Pretty sure the Irish Setter swiped it.
One time, when I was very sick, I lost 30lbs. I was pretty tiny, at just under five feet and 72lbs. My nana said I could try on the old 1880s ivory satin bustled wedding dress. It fit, and they crumpled newspaper up to fill out the bustle. Sadly, no one thought to take a picture. 
. My bro and I spent the night often. We'd sleep on the floor in front of the Franklin fireplace in the old kitchen where that cook stove had been. We'd make snack cakes, the kind you cooked in a cardboard pan. Nana said we always beat the hell out of them. They were flatter than a pancake. There was a cigar box of old toys we'd play with while Lawrence welk or hee haw were going on. Lots of wooden spools to stack, an old toy model A and truck, and poker dice. We'd do it it with the portrait of our x times Welsh great grandmother gazing on. It was the first oil painting I'd ever seen.
My family would live there then move away every few generations. Somebody left the hay rake out. There's a birch tree growing up through it now. I remember when they put the addition on the house, and using the old outhouse. I think it was a two seater. I was scared to go over to the woods and use it. I had baths in a dishpan at that house. I remember the old yellow rowboat upside down in the yard. I was too late for the barns, outbuildings, and summer house, but Dad told me about them. My grandfather had a plant nursery for a while. Wood heated. I remember helping plant some johnny jumpups.
My dad loved that house and the family history. He'd wanted so badly to sell his place and buy nana and his sibs out, but he passed at 63, well before Nana, so it never happened. When Nana was gone, my remaining uncle sold the place to the neighbor. I saved a few things, but was so overwhelmed didn't take much. Just a grieving brooch and some hand tatted hankies. Oh, and two calenders one of the family guys must have put up in the attic.1888 and 1889 I think. It was still being used as an unfinished sleeping loft at that point. It was the later, softer generations who insisted on things like walls and insulation. Lol
Anyway, I went to photograph it, but the new owner didn't want me to go back there. It turns out there's only a hole in the ground now. A leak under the addition started a mold problem that took the house over. It was unsaveable. Except for the framing beams. Theyve been reclaimed to go into the new house. But for now it's just a bit muddy hole in the ground.
I hurt so much when we sold the house, but at least it and the ghosts were still there. It was so special. One of the many updates done to it combined two rooms to make a dining room. My grandfather carved the holiday roasts on the spot where our ancestors were born, in the old birthing room. I can't wrap my head around this. If Dad had still been here, selling it would have killed him, and dismantling it would have returned him to haunt us. He, and I, felt those family connection most keenly. I feel...hollow, sad. I'm taking it harder than anyone else. I had secretly hoped to win the lottery, buy it back, fix it up, and retire there. Just down the street oad from the church where I was baptized, where I got married. The little red one room school house where I put on my wedding dress where the ghost of my g-g-g-g grandmother had taught school. And not far from the cemetery where my ancestors, grandparents, and parents are buried.
I know this isn't like losing a loved one. It doesn't have that gasping-for-breath shock and anguish. It's quieter. But it does hurt, and I feel like I've lost my family again. 
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in Virginia from the late 1600s. Her middle name is Virginia after her paternal grandmother. That GM &
GF (my GGParents) had a farm with a beautiful old house and barn. One of the sons came home from the war with "shell shock." He lived in a room in the barn and had an antiques business there.
After his death, the barn burned down with a load of antiques, both from the business and the family. A nicely-kept old Packard burned with it. Fortunately they got the horses out in time.
Mom's maternal GPs had a gorgeous Greek Revival home we occasionally visited in coastal. Virginia. Not entirely kept up, but I've always love old houses. Aside from the horror of bed pans & outhouses, it was magical visiting there, if also haunting. My GGGrandparents were buried in the yard.
After the death of my GGMs sister & husband, who had inherited the house, their children, who lived on adjoining properties, let the old home fall into disrepair and then knocked it down. I had visited there only twice in my life and I still I feel a great loss.
By the way, your description of your old family place was movingly written. Thank you for sharing. You have my sincere condolences.
