Leaving a House that Built Me

I'm sitting on the wood floor in my room. It hasn't been echoe-y like this since my senior year of high school when we painted it. Auntie Cindy helped me pick out just the right shade of rusty red to make the Golden Gate Bridge stand out in the painting Grandpa loved, the one that will soon be hanging up in my own apartment.

This room has come a long way since I first set foot in it years ago. It was once carpeted and full of Grandma and Grandpa's stamping things, their computer, their two separate desks that were so neatly organized. It was fun to hide under Grandpa's desk. The more cousins crammed under there, the better. They had perfected a system for working on their stamps together, and I loved to peek in on them while they worked. They were such wonderful, fascinating people. And this room housed one of their passions. I loved to think about that as I lived in this room.

And now, here I sit. I've come a long way since I first set foot in this room, too. I was about 6 then. My biggest dreams then were probably to beat my brother and Beckey's team in the Cousin Bowl in the front yard. Now I'm 23 and currently my biggest dream is to survive this move, class, and 24 kindergarten kiddos this year.

This room's been good to me. In a few short hours my foot will tread across the floor one last time. After they leave this room, they'll make their way down the hallway, feeling the carpet that my feet have helped to wear down over the years. My eyes will take in this wonderful home one last time, the place that has known so much of my family's love and laughter, and I'll be on my way. Maybe someday I'll come to love a place this much again, but Grandma and Grandpa's house will always be one of the first places I think of when I think of home.

My heart breaks as I think that the next time I see this place, it will only be from the road as I drive by. There won't be any maneuvering in the angled driveway, pushing the sticky door, hearing the rattling of the metal decoration on the back of the door, and feeling the rush of familiarity. No, it'll be just an empty, lonely house. But I will smile through the tears as I see the dear old place again, and then I'll drive on over to see the beautiful faces of my family once again.

Until then, I hear a new place calling out to me. It whispers the promise of housing new memories and experiences, of watching me continue to grow. Apartment living, here I come.

My friends, I leave you with one of my favorite songs to listen to when I'm away from home in honor one of the houses that did build me.