This past week my parents finalized the sale of my childhood home. The evening before settlement we gathered with friends and family in the now-empty house and shared a final meal together in our old home. There were many tears, a lot of stories 1, and a last walk-through of the spaces in which we spent so much of our lives.

The depth of emotion which I felt during my final walk-through caught me by surprise. It’s not that I don’t have a connection to my childhood home, but my relationship to it is a bit different than my sisters. I’ve always felt out-of-place in my family. I love them dearly, and have never felt unwelcome, but my family tends toward “loud and large,” and I’m more prone to small and quiet. I also hadn’t lived full-time at my childhood home since I was 17 years old, when I transferred to LMH and spent two years living out there during that week 2.

But I’m also a person desperate for rootedness, and I suppose I had more roots in that home than I ever actually realized. So, when I climbed the stairs shortly before I left the building for the last time, my heart was heavy when I took one last photo of my old room. It was empty, the last vestiges of my family cleared away. Our era was over, and it made me sad.

My childhood room, empty before the house is sold.

  1. I honestly don’t know how I made it to adulthood. 
  2. I was on the five year plan in high school. 

One thought

  1. I liked what our speaker said. ” don’t forget to remember” protect your. Memories. Write them down. You will enjoy them when you are ” old”

    Sent from my iPad


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