Home: [hohm]- adjective: a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.
For some reason I thought I would actually find a decent definition for this. Yeah, I realize this is the practical definition of a home but this doesn’t even cover the smallest ounce of what it truly means. I have made numerous comments about how I don’t feel like I have a permanent home since I am somewhat of a wanderer and never truly want to settle in one place.
Although, today, I had a different feeling.
Today, my Aunt is selling my childhood home. This is the same house that my mother and uncle grew up in with my grandfather, their footprints outlined in concrete in the driveway. This is the house where my father got down on one knee in the kitchen and asked my mom to marry him. This is the house where my parents brought me and my brother home from the hospital, where I hid dozens of binkies, where I got (and then gave away) my first puppy, where I picked rotten apples from our tree, and where I built numerous snow forts in the back yard with my brother. This is the house that embodies the early years of my childhood and today, it leaves our family. Today, I am sad.
We moved out of that house when I was in fifth grade (~7 years ago) and I was delighted that my aunt was buying it because I knew one day that I would want to buy it and raise my family there. After graduating high school, I realized that this was not something I wanted anymore but I was still glad to see that part of our family was still in the house. I knew that I would never want to move back to my small town but I never knew how saddened I would be to actually see it leave our family. It’s not a big house, it’s color has changed a few times, it doesn’t sit on a huge piece of land but it holds a lot of memories and that’s what matters to me.
I am halfway around the world and now I won’t ever be able to walk into that house and feel the same familiarity that I once felt as a child. It was truly more than a home and I am so fortunate to have created so many memories there.
One of my favorite memories is with my dad and my brother. All three of our rooms were right next to each other in the same small hallway and right before bed, my dad would turn off all the lights and hide in one of the rooms. Me and my brother would spin around a couple times at the end of the hall and slowly creep down waiting for my dad to pop out. Our arms would be locked with one another and the softest giggles would come from our mouths (as if dad didn’t know we were coming anyways). My dad would pop out every single time and make a loud noise sending my brother and I in the opposite direction with a mixture of screams and giggles coming out of our mouths. I love that memory…so much.
As I said before, it’s the memories that matter most which is why this is going to be okay. A new family will move in and I only hope that they create as many great memories as I did. Okay, I’m done with being nostalgic.