My dad and his siblings just finished up the last touches on their childhood house. They're getting ready to sell. The place him and his three other siblings grew up in, laughed in, cried in, fought in, but more importantly, loved in.

My dad and his siblings just finished up the last touches on their childhood house, the house that was their home, that over time, took form as mine and my cousin's second home.

As I turned the gold door knob to my grandparent's cape house and pushed the door open, a rush of newly polished hard wood floor filled my senses. An empty kitchen stood before me, the cloud wallpaper was not a thing anymore, the small table my Grandparent's and I ate dinner at was there, but this time only two chairs stared back at me. I walked through the small kitchen, I looked to my left at the naked dining room, my Grammy's China had been gone for months, and that distinctive wallpaper had since been torn down and replaced with a fresh coat of white paint. I continued walking on down the hall. To my right was the bathroom, where my Grammy gave me baths when I was little. A few steps more and I saw the living room, where our family Christmas parties took place, those were special.

Picture this:

It’s always the Sunday before Christmas, all 10 of us (my cousins and I) decked out in our Christmas outfits. We walk in the side door at our grandparents house with a rushing smell of something in the oven, fudge made by my dad, Rick, somewhere in the house, and that distinctive smell that just told you, you were at Grammy and Grampy’s house. That interesting smell you’ll never forget. Grammy in the kitchen turns around and does that “ta da” thing and I remember her saying a few times, “Here I am!”. Usually smiling, hugging us in the kitchen with her questionably appropriate, yet hilarious, red Christmas apron on (you know which one I am talking about, in the picture shown above…), with probably her “Ageless” shirt underneath it. Always happy, because she was excited to see us, and she knew what type of insane obstacle she had for us waiting under the tree. After your memorable hug, you open the fridge to grab either Hershey chocolates, circus peanuts or gum drops, maybe a drink or two, but always remembering to check the dates. Then she sends us on our way to the den to decorate cookies, or to put the gifts under the artificially made, multicolored lit tree with special ornaments that spun. And when it’s time to open the presents, Grampy takes his favorite spot on the stairs, overlooking everyone, the rest of us kids, aunts and uncles are scattered around room, and more importantly, around the lady who brought us all together, our Grammy, who usually is always the one kneeling down in the middle, with the biggest smile on, just vividly happy to see her entire family...

But all of that has since came and went and my memories vanished from a joyous picture to an empty room, with zero familiarity, and an empty fireplace.

Finally my feet stopped outside my Grammy's den, where she spent most of her time, doing crossword puzzles, watching M.A.S.H, and the Golden Girls, and where she paid bills and wrote letters to me at her desk. The room where I watched Bug's Life on the couch, where she comforted me when I cried, and where she watched birds from her feeder, she loved birds.

^ All my cousins and significant others (minus Julie!)

Upstairs, the beds were gone, as well as my Grammy's old sewing machine, the senior pictures of my dad and aunts and uncle, the wedding photos that lined the stair way, and the big doll house and town my Grampy put together. The whole house, it was empty. Just like how I felt, when I knew it could possibly be the last time I'd set foot in this house, this home.

Pictures weren't hung, furniture gone, wallpaper ripped down, new paint took its place. Nothing seemed the same, yet every room held some sort of meaning with me, for I grew up in this house, as did my dad, my sisters and everyone else in my family. Although bare, I could picture it exactly how it used to be and I couldn't help but smile and shed a tear at the same time.

I laugh to think that I am sad about letting go of a house. It's just a building, with four walls, multiple rooms, and a yard. But when I really think about it, it's not just a building, it's not JUST anything, it's a home, the O'Bryan's home, but in a few months, maybe weeks, it'll be someone else's.

^ The "original" O'Bryan's

At the end of last Summer, I lost my Grammy, and I never thought I'd lose her home. My Grampy still lives in a nursing home, and visits his home from time to time, but it is time to let it go.

Saying goodbye to a house that turned into a home that just oozes memories for myself and my family members is a lot harder than I imagined. I did not believe a building could hold so much sentimental value, but it does. Saying goodbye to this house is like saying goodbye to my Grammy all over again, because so much of her was made inside this house, on that porch, and in that garden.

We all made our mark on 32 Pine Haven Circle, whether it was shooting hoops in the driveway, ice skating on the pond, jumping out of the second story window (Dad, ha), learning to swim/dive in the pool, hiking to the pond to fish, sitting on the deck to have a smoke (Grampy, always!), playing cribbage (for hours on end), going to 4th of July neighborhood parades, simply walking to the mailbox alongside Grammy, and much more.

^ Took me years to finally be taller than Grammy, not to mention finally to be able to see over her! (In her kitchen)

Letting go is always scary and always prevalent. Change does not settle with me well, but it's a part of living, so I'm letting go of my second home. 32 Pine Haven Circle will remain on my map as my Grammy and Grampy's home forever, and I'm excited for a new family to move in and leave their own mark and create their own memories

So as I shut the lights off to my Grammy's kitchen, where she used to dance and sing as she cooked, and slowly closed the door behind me, I said goodbye to her, her home, my dad's home and my second home for the last time.

Thus is life, and I'm letting go of the house that built my family and I.

I leave this house, this home, with a bittersweet taste.