"Long after the ground stops shaking or the bombs stop falling or the water recedes, survivors dream of coming back, picking through the rubble and finding something –
'See that window up there? That was my room. There were lots of sunny windows then, and things grew. We had celebrations here, and people came to visit. Sometimes five great-grandparents sat around our table…
The staircase was lined with photos – and the front of the fridge; school and karate and scouts and tae-kwon-do and track and proms…
We learned to read here, to ride a bike, use a computer and a camera, to drive…
Pumpkins were carved here; Christmas trees decorated, cookies baked, noses wiped, stories read, babies rocked and nursed….
For a long time, it was a good place – it was home.'
…a photo, a book, a child’s toy, shards of broken plates - something, anything that affirms the memories, that validates their roots, the bond between them and the place.
There’s a way you leave a place, and a way you don’t." -Mary Nichols, my grandmother
Hi. This brick house with the green garage door on the corner is my home. It even has my initial carved into the porch. Well, it was my home for the first 18 years of my life. Now, it is yours. It would mean the world to me if you take care of it since I can’t anymore.
Exactly a year ago, my mom, brother and I got evicted. We were forced to leave, we didn’t choose to. The hardest goodbye is knowing you can never return. To be ripped from my childhood home was like losing my childhood with it.
I can tell you a million and a half stories about every single room in this house, but I will keep it brief. I took my first steps here, from the family room to the garage door, meeting my father when he got home from work. The staircase was lined with baby pictures of my brother and I. There was one time my mom and I were baking Italian cookies, and the whole house smelled like a Good N Plenty factory for a month. The great room with the high ceiling was where we had Christmas every year, and I always made sure the tree sat in front of the window so Santa could see his way down the street. The master bedroom was where we had family game nights every week before our family fell apart. The first room to the left of the staircase was my room. I hope it protects you the way it kept me safe all those years.
Sometimes home is not just the cliche “two hands and a heartbeat," but it really is where you love the ones you love. Whatever place brings you and your loved ones closer, that is home. Wherever you want to rest your head at the end of the day, that is home. Whatever place calms you down and brings you peace, that is home. Where you make your memories, good and bad, that is home. Wherever your heart is, that is home.
It was a good home. No, it was great. There was love and laughter and light in that home for a very long time. Even after the family fell apart, the home was still there. This brick house on the corner has withstood countless floods and droughts, both the blackest and the brightest days, and it has not wavered once. It refuses to wither. It is a strong home. It is a safe home. It is a happy home.
I did not know how wonderful of a home it was until it was taken from me. I never fully appreciated it. I always heard my father longing for a bigger, better place to live. But what is living worth if you don’t love the place you’re in? I loved my home and all of its quirks. The way it pops and creaks on freezing days. The countless windows that always promised bright days ahead. The squeaky floorboards were actually my favorite as a child; I loved the sound it made so I would purposefully stand on them until I got yelled at. The way it was always perfectly imperfect. It reminded me so much of me.
Please thank it for me, tell it we still love it, and we are grateful. We didn’t want to leave, but now it is your job to take care of it. Water the Butterfly Bush in the front. Open all of the windows in May to enjoy the lilacs my mother planted. Let the water run for less than one minute before you take a shower or bath. I promise you the basement isn't as scary as it seems. Be careful on the stairs. Fill the house with light. Love it as part your family, and it will love you back. It is more than four walls and a roof. It is comfort after a breakup. It is an escape from school. It is a place to rest easy after a long day at work. It's where you will weather the storms, where you will fill the halls with your light and laughter, where you will call home.
