So last month, the home I grew up in went up for sale. Sadly, the house needs a lot of work as our neighbors who still live in the area have reported that the house was not cared for. This is such a shame because my father always took so much pride in owning a home and keeping it up. The yard always looked amazing. He even spent an entire summer building a cedar fence out of hand. It was incredible!
When my father said he was selling the home a number of years ago, I discovered, subconsciousnessly, that it bothered me. After learning the news, I found the next few nights to be restless as I tossed and turned, dreaming about the house. I don’t recall any of the dreams specifically but they always centered around living in the house and they were always sad in nature. This was odd because at this point, it had been about eight years since I had lived there and I had rarely given the house a thought since moving. I guess my brain was attempting to reconcile the fact that a place where I had spent close to 15 years living would no longer be a place I would visit. The events that had occurred there would now reside only as memories. I would no longer ever have the experience of going back and visiting the old home, my room, or the yard where I spent so much of my time.
It was sobering to realize that something that I had cared so little about, was in fact something I apparently did care greatly about. Reflecting, I can see why. A lot of firsts were achieved in my life while living in that home. I grew from a little boy into a man. That general memory and the specific events that occurred while I lived there helped to build who I am. My hope is that whoever purchases the house will be able to create memories as I did.