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Um no, it is not just a house. My great-grandfather built this house. I grew up in this house. Countless sleepovers, birthday parties, pets, fights, adventures have been had in this house. You cannot just give away my memories. It was and is hard enough watching grandparents move or their former houses being sold off, but you can't sell our house!
This led to a conversation of when my Mom's great-aunt sold the family farm and with it all my dreams of what my future wedding would be. My dad lightly pointed out they were his wedding memories, and my heart ached even more.
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Unlike my mother, who was a military brat, I lived in the same house from birth until college (and even then I lived there over the summers and for a few long months after graduating). I moved across the hall at the age of 3 when my dad finished his addition to the family home, but other than that I'd lived in the exact same place for 18 years. Suffice it to say, I'd grown comfortable with my place there; the only major change was a paint job when I was around 6 and then again as a tween, and I liked it that way, void of any major disruptions.
I was awakened to the fact that this home was no longer mine (though I am always welcome back) when my mother started redoing MY bedroom the summer after I graduated from college....while I was still in it. I watched her systematically erase my childhood...or at least that's how it felt. I know she was actually turning it into a more mature and neutral space for all visitors, including myself...but it's weird to think of myself as a visitor in this place (except when it comes to chores, I'm cool with being a visitor in that respect, lol).
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| Mother's Day 2014 |
I don't know what exactly it is, but something about the way we associate memories to the atmosphere they took place in makes it incredibly hard to say goodbye. Maybe it's because so many of my happy memories happened in those places; it's like nothing will ever be quite as happy because it won't be here. I know that isn't true, but it feels like it sometimes. Like the family farm, it was the perfect wide open space to play as kids, and I remember it fondly and perfectly, but I've had even more happy memories in the homes my grandparents have lived in since then.
However, this is a little different. The house my grandfather lived in is the house my dad grew up in. It's 5 houses down from the house where I grew up. It's where I went after school in kindergarten to eat turkey sandwiches and watch Barney with my grandpa. It's where I played in the same room my dad did as a kid, and "helped" my grandpa in his garden. It's different because I'm old enough to be aware; I'm old enough to miss it. I'm old enough to know it's just a house and yet not.
My parents aren't moving; they aren't selling their house (not as far as I know, and if they are they have some explaining to do). But I still dread the day that they do. Because as sentimental as the farm was and my grandpa's house is, their house has even more history. My great-grandfather built their house, my grandpa helped. My dad added onto it with the help of my uncle and friends. This house is a part of my family. This house is where I fought with my brother over cartoons, cried for hours over my first loose tooth, jumped in puddles wearing my best nightgown, wrestled with cousins over Easter eggs, broke in through the bathroom after forgetting my key...this house is where I grew up; this house is where I became me. This home is just a house, and yet so much more.
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| That nightie used to be white. |
I've dreamed about my future here, bringing my kids someday, teaching them softball in the yard, climbing in the tree house my dad built for us as kids. Watching my kids help their grandpa in the garden, tossing coins in the "wishing well," family cook outs and kids playing tag, family games of football. I've always imagined it with this place as the backdrop...it's the perfect backdrop. But this home is just a house. As the saying goes, "Home is where the heart is, and my heart is where you are." So I may shed a few tears when my grandfather's house is sold, and even more when my parents inevitably move, but that's okay because this house is just a house, and I'll still have my family to come home to.
