It wasn't as significant then.

So much history on that street, in that house, with the shared driveway, perched on a hill.

In the backyard, chunks of newly mown grass litter the path from the garage to the back door, the lawn I would eventually mow for Gram. I remember walking in the back door, shouting hello to my grandmother who sat in the well-worn, heavily faded recliner in the living room, two rooms over. Walking through the kitchen, I pause in the dining room at the candy dish. The dish that sat on the hutch. One piece of furniture in the house that contained many antiques and new additions to the collection.

Gram is sitting with her feet up, watching one of her shows. Depending on the time, it could be a John Wayne Western movie marathon, “Ice Road Truckers,” or ‘Wheel of Fortune.” One of her favorite pastimes was solving puzzles. Crosswords were her favorite. She always was the best at Scrabble. We shared a love for double solitaire, and would race each other to see who could finish first. Her house was always filled with love and Lay’s Potato Chips. She loved spoiling her grandchildren. She was always giving to others, whether it be to charity or family. Born and raised Polish Catholic from the East Side, she lived out her faith by example, not by simply spewing Scripture. But she was a stubborn Polack.

I used to sit with her in the living room, and she’d tell me what she made for lunch that day. More often than not it included graham crackers and Nutella. She’d give me advice, and tell me to “Stay in school. Make something of yourself. Do great things.” Sometimes I only half listened. I had other thoughts, distractions, and missed part of my life.

Now, each Christmas, we are forced to hold our family gathering elsewhere. Back then, I didn't know I'd long to feel the burnt orange shag carpet beneath my bare feet. To sit on the scratchy plaid couch that was, to everyone’s surprise, the best place for a Sunday nap. To sneak M&Ms from the candy jar. I drive past the old house, noticing the renovations since it was sold to new owners, wondering how I would feel if I had really known. If I had reminded myself to live in the moment, and that one day, I was going to miss it. That I was going to lose a piece of me, a part of myself.

But now I know. I know this place, despite my late realization, has made me who I am today. If someone had told me, “You’re gonna miss this,” I probably wouldn’t have really listened, because I’m a stubborn Polack too.