When I walked into my new room I could tell right away. It felt smaller, so I tried it out. I ran to tell my parents that yes, this room was smaller, because I couldn’t do a cartwheel in it like my old bedroom. As a 6 year old, I loved my new childhood home but I would have to find another spot for cartwheels.
I didn’t anticipate having such big feelings about my parents moving and selling their house. I was one of their biggest encouragers of moving. Even still, when I think about them moving, I get an uncomfortable lump in my throat about leaving the place I’ve come home to for 30 years.
I’ll miss the grassy volleyball area where my friends and I would run around. I’ll miss the raspberries from the enormous garden where we picked buckets of rocks as kids and spread manure.
I will miss the yard where my high school boyfriend and I took pictures before prom. For my 16th birthday, he gave me three miniature rose plants so he could, “Give you (me) roses everyday.” The Eric rose bushes are still there, 20 years later, in the front yard and some lucky new owner will get to enjoy them .
I laugh when I think of where I learned to mow the yard in straight lines as the little tree worms fell. I remember hurrying quicker than I should so the tiny worms attached by thin strands wouldn’t fall on my head. Sorry Dad, the lines weren’t that straight in my rush to be finished.
When I moved away to college, I loved coming home and raiding the ample pantry. Their house seemed so big compared to my apartment and I enjoyed the space away from roommates. I loved sleeping in a queen size bed in the cool basement and having some space to breathe.
At 21, I got married and we lived in tiny apartments. My parents’ home seemed expansive, clean and extra comfortable and we loved staying there when we left Cache Valley, Utah. The small bedroom from my childhood seemed spacious. We had several apartments and homes with quirks and questionable building quality and I loved visiting my parents home with straight walls, baseboards and good air conditioning.
Being a military family moving often, going back to their home became some occasional stability and was so comfortable. They lived in the house for 30 years which I cannot even imagine. During our recent PCS and one 3 years ago, we stayed there for a month between moving. While en route from Texas to Alaska, my daughter said “Grandma’s house feels like home.”
I planned a last minute trip to visit them in May where I sorted through boxes from childhood and said goodbye to the house. I took a last walk through the yard and said goodbye to some stuffed animals that will not be making the move to their next house. I am both excited for their next adventure and sad to close the chapter of my childhood home.
I’m reminding myself that it’s not the house, but the memories you make while you’re there. And I can’t wait to make some new ones next time we visit.
