The last two weeks have been a whirlwind- mostly caused by the sale of our house. Yes, after 15 months on the market, our house finally sold. But despite the excitement surrounding a move to a new house, it was a lot of work crammed into a few short days.
In my idealistic mind, I imagined Erica and I packing the moving truck, locking up the house one last time, concluded by an emotional embrace and kiss as we drove away from the old house. Instead, we packed boxes for weeks, cleaned and painted some rooms in the new house, moved the furniture out of the old house in a freezing rain/snowstorm, and ended up needing 2 trips with the moving truck. There was no emotion- only choas.
Later that night I stopped by the old house one last time to walk through it, vacuum a little from the carpet, and leave my keys. Then the emotions arrived. I realized that I spent almost eight years of my life living there. We brought our first child home to that house. I was instantly flooded with a wave of memories all created within those walls. Laughter. Tears. Family. Arguments. Friends. Birthday parties. It had been a good home, a great place to live life. But now my voice echoed as the words bounced off bare walls and empty rooms. The place was cold, dry and lifeless. It was no longer a home, but just a house. And I realized: I would most likely never step foot in this place again. I would walk out the door and probably never return. I mourned that reality and wondered how I would recreate those memories in my mind while living in a different house? It was always so easy to remember Olivia climbing, bouncing, and laughing on her Bounce-and-Spin-Zebra when I could sit in front of the exact spot where it happened. So would I lose the impact of those memories? And then I think God spoke to me. I realized that my memories are special not because they are connected to a location, but because they involve people. And those people will go with me to wherever home might be. Erica, Olivia, other family members, and all of our friends are the best ingredients of our favorite memories. Houses come and go; people do not.
So I left my key on the counter, hit the garage door opener one last time, got in my car, and drove across town . . . to home.
