I'm an emotional person, to a fault I would argue. My whole family is. We grew up in a house where love and pain were felt deeply. And for that, I am grateful. But, at times this feels more like a burden than a gift. Today was one of those times. I do not write to make you feel sorry for me, because trust me there is no need for that. I write because I need to, for myself. And I hope that somewhere in my writing, you too will find comfort. Whatever you are going through, you are not alone.
Multiple times, I begged my parents to move. I wanted to be close to my friends, not out in the woods. I wanted a new house and not the same carpet I had seen my entire life. And yet, they never caved. They built this house from the ground up 23 years ago. My dad picked the land and my mom picked the style. A long front porch with white columns, that is home to me.
This house is where I took my first steps, smiled for countless Christmas cards, set up lemonade stands, ran barefoot on summer evenings, caught toads with my first best friends, and then tried to house them in the bottom of my dresser, oops. This house is where I locked our cat, Katie, in a cooler because I thought she would be warm, but man was I wrong, don't worry she survived. It's where Prissy, our childhood dog is buried. It's where I played dress up and stole my mother's heels. It's where I cut off half my hair when I was 4 and then again, accidentally after getting a brush stuck in my bangs when I was 12. That was a rough year. It's where I fell head first off the back of an old pick-up truck, and knocked out my two front teeth and fell in my mother's arms as I cried about middle school drama. But, most importantly this house is where I felt love.
Today, my sister told me our Mom is thinking about selling the house. The stairs are too much for my father and it is beginning to be more than she can handle on her own. The thought of giving up this house is overwhelming. It feels as though I would be losing a part of myself, but most of all it reminds me just how much my father's health has declined in the past few years. For years, I wanted to move, but now I am sobbing at the thought of it. And so, I guess by writing this I hope to remind myself – it's not a place that makes a person, it's the love that lives in it. I don't know what will happen, who knows, maybe they won't sell it. But, if they do, I hope the new owners feel at least ½ love we did.
