Dear Owners,
You may not remember me, but about a year ago, you let me see what my childhood home looked like now. You had the kindness to let me see the house that built me. It may not have been such a big deal for you, but for me, it meant closure.
When I was younger, I didn’t have everything everyone else did, but I had a home and a bed, which is more than some people have today. When that got taken away from me in my teens, it was tragic to my entire family. We all felt at fault, we felt responsible for something that was inevitable. When we got foreclosed on and I couldn’t even go back to the house. I walked those halls and felt the crisp paint and cried. I went into my old room, which, ironically, was the last time I had my own room. I walked in and saw destruction, things packed, everything out of place, and I had to decide what was important to me, and what could be left. When I finally left that house I blew a kiss to my cat buried under the tree and walked to the car. I stared at every spot in the cul-de-sac that had a memory attached to it. I remembered igloos, and baby pools, tree house forts, and spy games. But now, those are all memories.
When I drove past your house, I never had the courage to go up and say something. Then, one day, you were outside doing yard work, and with a deep breathe I walked up. I asked who owned the home and told my story and said that you had done an amazing job with the place. As I turned away, your mother in law asked if I wanted to see the inside, with a heavy heart and tears down my face, I said yes. You took me through every single room and showed me everything. I got to see the chimney where we hung our wreath every year. I got to see the new kitchen, which my mom had always dreamed of. I got to see my old room and the master bedroom, which I once ran towards during thunderstorms. You then took me downstairs towards the basement and I saw what I had imagined what my home should look like, not like it did. You opened the basement door and it smelt the exact same, I was taken back to the many tornado threats, how we had to go to our little hideaway so we didn’t get hurt. I still remember being in our makeshift tornado shelter listening to the radio while Mom and Dad stood outside the door.
You see what a twenty-minute tour, was what I spent my life dreaming about. Ever since we left that house, I had countless dreams and nightmares about that house, but it wasn’t the house that scared me, it was the baggage that came with it. You finally helped me come to peace with everything that had happened to us. From the foreclosure to bankruptcy, to homeless, to college, and so on. I never thought I’d need to go back to that place, for closure, or for anything. But, what you gave me that day was so much more than closure. You gave me peace, peace that I hadn’t had in eighteen years.
You probably don’t remember me, and that’s ok, but for the rest of my life, I will always be thankful for the kindness in your heart. The kindness you showed me when I cried while seeing every room. And the kindness it took to let some random teenager into your home. I will never forget you, or that day.
With all the thanks in the world,
Some random teenager
