Tuesday, November 24, 2015
And the memories.
These are the things that made our house a home.
There's the nail where we hung the picture of my dad, the one my sister sent after he died.
There's the burn in the carpeting from the fire we lit that night when it was so very cold. The smudges from years of turning the lights on and then off, the smudges we don't notice until the stuff is gone.
The evidence of us.
The green on the wall looks so big now, now that the things are down. It's jarring to walk into the living room and see it removed, poking at me like brushing against a raw nerve ending. There's not enough wine in the world to help me tamp down the anxiety that rises. It's hard to tell whether we're coming or going, because it seems like just yesterday.
We've been here 11 years, soaked into every wall and floor of this house to make it our home. The first one that was really ours, the first place we stayed long enough to make it so.
It's the only house they've ever known. He was two and a half and we still counted her age in weeks. This house that felt so big until we filled it with us, our lives and our memories. It's the house where we hid from tornadoes and hail, where we adopted dogs and sent them on to happier homes before finding the one that was right for us. It's the house where we got the call that my father died, where we cried when daddy had to deploy again and celebrated when he came home. Where we awkwardly found our way as a family through all of the things that life threw our way. Our joy and our grief is embedded into this place.
The echoes of our sadness, yes, but mostly our joy.
We've moved before. Often, even. But never like this. Never from someplace that holds so much of us. And while it's a good thing, it's a difficult thing as well. I see the kids struggling with it, trying to balance their excitement and their fear. It's a new adventure, but they have to let go of so much. Our new home is only 15 minutes down the road, but it's a lifetime when your life happens in a three block radius. Different school, different town, different routines, for all of us.
Transitions, even really good ones, are hard. This one is no different.