Let me just start off by saying I am highly aware of how emotional and dramatic I’m being about this. Even with this awareness, I find myself wanting to wallow in it rather than push it away. Seems to be the right thing for me at the moment. If you don’t want to read something sappy today, I suggest you pass on this post.
Tonight my dad hands over the keys to the house I grew up in. The house that our family lived in for 27 years! That house has seen a lot of changes in the past quarter of a century. My parents moved there when I was one and my sister was about to be born. There are videos of us playing on the rusty swing set behind the garage (before my dad built us a play house complete with real siding, shutters, and a roof!), splashing in kiddie pools on the back porch (before he extended it around the back of the house), riding bikes up and down the block, celebrating birthdays in the backyard, and my sister biting me on the front lawn. Besides the videos, I swear my dad has a photo of that house in every season for every year we’ve been there. He says he likes to document.
My parents put a lot of work into that house. They replaced a little front stoop with a beautiful front porch (complete with a swing). They added a master bedroom which gave me and my sister our own rooms and more recently my dad redid the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. The house is over 100 years old, but that’s part of why I love it so much. Honestly I am so happy for my dad. That house was my mom’s pick and it was going to be a ‘5 year house.’ Lots of things throughout the years stopped them and then him from moving out and now finally (22 years past that 5 year mark) he will move on to something he chooses. Not sure what that will be yet, but I’m sure he will find it and be very happy.
Tonight as my sister and I cried and hugged each other in the street outside (stop laughing dad!), we both agreed that the hardest part is knowing we can’t come back whenever we want. We won’t pull up to the house and see my dad reading his book/newspaper swinging on his swing. We won’t be able to challenge eachother to squeeze through the cat door. We won’t pretend our bedrooms are in a castle and we are the princesses that live there. We won’t play ‘work’ in the basement with the old fashioned typewriter. We won’t come home, tell my dad we’re home for the night and then sneak out of the house (sorry dad I swear its the only bad thing we did). We won’t all sleep there on Christmas Eve and wake up and rush to our assigned present opening spot. Though it is true we won’t get to do those things, the real truth is we will still have our memories, a trillion pictures, and many years of memories left to make.
If you want to shed a little tear, follow this link to Miranda Lambert’s music video for the song, ‘The House that Built Me.’ Its a pretty song and I think many people can relate to it. Get your tissues ready!