Aug 20 2013
This summer has been busy and strange… strange-good, but strange nonetheless. We are moving to the city we’ve wanted to live in for the past 9 years, and we are thrilled. I’ve been searching feverishly for a place to live over the course of the next year while we learn the area, find the area we really want to live in, and sell our home.
I never felt an affection for our current home until we put it on the market. Now I walk around with an urge to physically hug the walls. It was puzzling at first why I have become so attached. We don’t live in a particularly unique home. In fact, we’re looking for more character in our next home. However, as I pondered the source of my befuddlement, I realized that WE have given our home character. This house was home base when we moved here and hardly knew a soul. K and I learned to spend Friday nights alone with just each other rather than in the company of our friends.
In this house, we’ve hosted parties, made countless meals barefooted in the kitchen with glasses of wine in hand and our friends backed against the counters, we’ve put up holiday decorations, we’ve planted flowers in the front garden, I became an basil growing expert, and we’ve sat on the back porch listening to music and enjoying the rare cool evening. These walls have seen me cry floods of tears over deaths, disappointments, and the bitterness that sometimes comes with adoption when things don’t happen.
Out of Abby’s ten year life, six of those years have been under this roof.
We brought our son home to this house. I’ve spent nights in the dark rocking and singing Golden Slumbers and I’m Only Sleeping to Baby Boy because they are tattooed onto my memory and are easy to hum when you are that exhausted. We’ve painted walls. We’ve applied wall decals. We’ve changed light fixtures and hung pictures. We’ve watched happy movies, scary movies, sad movies, and regrettable movies. We’ve hid in the closet under the stairs when tornadoes threatened. We’ve read shelves of books.
We’ve sweated in the front yard, we’ve trudged through the snow on the sidewalk, and I’ve said goodbye to a car that felt like a friend while living here. We’ve had miserable jobs here, and we’ve had wonderful jobs here. Friendships have grown under this roof.
So. much. life. has taken place between these walls, and the thought of leaving them for new walls who don’t know us at all is exactly the sentiment that urges me to hug them. I haven’t actually gone that far yet, but I can’t promise that I won’t lay my cheek against them at some point and cry goodbye tears for a home that became a friend.
Don’t get me wrong– I’m excited for our next big adventure, but I’m sad to close the book on the last one. However, it’s time.
Thank you, House, for serving as our shelter and our sanctuary. Thank you for being our home.