saying goodbye to a house

My Grandma has been living with my parents for a few years, now. During this time, she has always held onto the dream that she would be able to go back to her home. The home she's lived in for at least the 42 years that I've known her.
Sadly, that dream just isn't possible. Through no fault of her own, she just is too forgetful, too fragile, to live by herself. And the closest any of us live to her home is an hour away.
She enjoys, most of the time, living with my parents. It has its ups and downs.
But her home.
I cannot even fathom all the memories this little 3 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath holds. Its staggering.
I remember sleeping in sleeping bags, in the living room. Waiting for Santa. Looking at the really bad artificial Christmas tree. All the croquet games in the back yard. The wrapping paper base ball games. Easters. 4th of July. Sitting around the table, listening to all the grown ups talk about things I might not understand. My Aunt's wedding, in that home. The toys hidden in the closet. Playing Oven with my cousins. ( I cannot tell you what Oven is. I'm not sure I could describe it well enough. Ask Cami if you know her). Heck. I think I got to see Cami as a baby for the first time in Grandma's house.
My Grandfather died in that house. Its where I last saw him. Its where he lived. Its where he had his strokes. Its where he spoke last.
Its a house I've sought refuge in. Its where I used to collect bottles, and get money to walk to the 7 11. Its where I sat on the front porch eating too much sugar. Its where I sugar crashed.
Grandma has, in her own way, agreed to let the house be a home to someone else now. As a rental property for the moment. But, next weekend, we're all going to the house. The home. To look. To pillage. To plan, because it's going to need to be emptied. And I have a feeling, for me, at least, to say goodbye. To a house.
And I don't know how to do that...