I stand in the empty house feeling a mix of nostalgia, sadness, and separation from years of not calling it “home.” Yet there is something sacred about a house – somehow it always feels like home when you step through that door.  It is like stepping back into a memory that felt distant until you are right back in it again. Right back where you were in any memory you can recall, like watching scenes from your favorite movie. So familiar. So tangible.

The thing about THIS house is it holds so many memories that it feels like a staple in our lives.  In fact, so many friends have memories in this house that they too, feel the connection.  This was the first house we owned together as a couple and where we added a “second” fur kid to our family – our yellow lab, Enzo (our first fur kid Max, has way more than 9 lives, and is still happily part of our family).  This house was our first family home – the place we brought our son home and lived for the first 7 years of his life.  It was where I decided to go back to school to become a nurse and was met with the best support and love I could have asked for.  The place that I bonded with lifelong friends through late night study groups to get each other through the treachery of nursing school.  Where our son started kindergarten on the same day I started my job as a new nurse – I remember that walk to the kindergarten classroom and the long walk home without him. I could barely see through my tears.  It was the place where I weathered my first few years as a new nurse working nights; balancing being a mom and wife, and functioning with minimal sleep.

I walk through the front door and immediately I am in the living room where we brought our son home from the hospital – snug in his car seat bubble, innocent, and looking to us for all his future care. I can see the hunter green couch that we bought as our first big furniture purchase as newlyweds.  That green couch later became a stomping ground for a growing toddler, but at that moment, it was the perfect place to put our newborn son.  I set him down on that couch, still strapped in his seat as I watched him sleeping and wondering, “What do we do now?”  We were nervous and excited first-time parents who like all new parents, felt the rush of responsibility of caring for a new life and hoping to God you don’t get it wrong.  That is the same couch that cradled our best friend while she consoled our crying son.  He was hysterical after being scared when her husband sneezed the loudest sneeze that any of us had ever heard.  We held our breath as we looked over at our son who jolted and broke into hysterics. She held him and rocked him until he fell asleep on her chest for what felt like hours. I can still picture that sight 14 years later.

Walking into the small dining room, I can “see” the wall that was the backdrop for our baby photoshoots.  I was fortunate enough to meet a group of wonderful women during pregnancy, some of whom are still friends.  We developed a bond that led to routine play dates – looking back, I recognize those play dates were really for us.  We bonded over coffee with chocolate raspberry creamer and all things “baby” and felt connected to each other in a time when we really needed it.  Motherhood is hard and being a new first-time mom can be scary and sometimes lonely – I would like to think we carved out some special time together and special memories in that house.  We had a photoshoot at one of the play dates I hosted.  We lined up our little blobs of children against that small dining room wall.  (I say blobs, because let’s face it, “littles” are gorgeous blobs until they can sit up on their own, and at this point in the story, there was no sitting on their own – I digress.) I can still see them sitting there against that dining room wall that is now bare and waiting for new memories.

The kitchen small enough to pass as an apartment kitchen, felt big to us at that time.  The most vivid memory is our then 9-month-old son on the kitchen floor with our yellow lab Enzo who was just over a year.  Both of them were on the floor looking up at me doing “upward dog” that would have made any Yogi proud.  I still cherish that picture perfect moment.  Damn do we miss that dog.  There were many Girls’ nights that started and ended in that kitchen.  The annual tradition started on my 30^th birthday – the day I cried my way through the day until being celebrated by some of the most amazing women, that again, I still call friends.  Little did I know, that the annual Girls’ night out would prove to be a great escape of fun and shenanigans for all of us, celebrating all of our birthdays, friendships, successes, and trip ups.  We held each other up through good times and bad, through motherhood, through relationship challenges, and danced the night away embraced by friendship that we all consider blessed to have.  That kitchen was our starting point and where we would end up after a night of dancing. We have our resident DD, lovingly nicknamed “Dirk” who over the years has safely driven “his girls” to the club and picked us up to bring us home safely.  He would then make us not-so-gourmet corn dogs when the “Jack-in-the-Crack” drive-through was closed and curly fries could not be consumed – always a bummer end to a great night/early morning.  Sadly, our Girls’ nights have not happened in a few years, but those memories live on and Dirk is patiently waiting.  

Then there’s the family room where we would take turns holding our son on our chest to take a nap with him.  He was so small that he could fit snugly just under my chin and barely stretch to my stomach.  I cherish those peaceful times where the world stands still and all that matters is right there, so close.  Years later, that same family room would be the site of many late-night nursing school study sessions. Sessions of a different kind of bonding, yet still precious to me.  

Stepping foot into our son’s bedroom was surreal.  I could picture painting the walls when I was preparing a gender-neutral bedroom.  This was before the days of gender reveal parties or other fancy-pants celebrations.  Nope, we did it the old-fashioned way.  We didn’t find out the gender of our child until you guessed it, BIRTH.  I know, right? Such a foreign concept these days.  Let me tell you, it was the BEST surprise we have ever had.  So, since we were gaga for surprises (pun intended) and a bit different, I did not want the traditional neutral yellow or zoo animal theme.  I went with denim with red accents.  I used a paint technique on the lower half of the walls that looked like denim panels. I can still picture those walls and how accomplished I felt getting them done.  Once we got the crib, changing table, and rocking chair in, I remember taking a nap in the rocking chair as I “nested” prepping for the big day.  I remember that painted cloud light bulb I got at a craft fair that illuminated clouds and added a touch of whimsy.  In the early days of being home with a newborn, I also vividly remember my first mommy melt down at the changing table when we couldn’t figure out why our son was crying so much.  I remember feeling so exhausted, so helpless, and so unsure that I yelled at my husband who clearly did not deserve that.  New parent exhaustion is real and so is the power of love to overcome those moments.  Over the years, a racecar bed replaced the crib, as our toddler grew before our eyes.  When we moved out of the house to make it a rental, I painted over those denim-paneled walls, which was not easy, yet I realize that was a part of me “letting go.”  Standing in the room now, I can still imagine those denim walls peaking through giving me glimpse of those precious memories with our growing boy.

Then there’s the guest room that was really our makeshift office and craft room.  For years, that room served as the schoolwork sanctuary as I completed several online nursing school prerequisites and courses.  Although it was a small space, we tried to make guests feel at home when they stayed with us.  Some of the best guest memories are those surprise guests from Down Under that turned up on our doorstep.  We have been blessed with several surprise visits over the years – what we wouldn’t give to have them visit these days!  

Standing back in the living room – the center of our first family home – I feel a mix of sadness and peace.  Having time to reminisce, cry, and laugh at the memories that have flooded me has been cathartic. To say that deciding to sell this home was a difficult decision, would be a drastic understatement.  Being the more emotional of our three family members (and two fur kids), suffice it to say, that getting the place ready to sell has hit me the hardest.  Yet, as the three of us have cleaned and prepped this home to pass her onto the next lucky person, we have made new memories. We have had picnics on the dining room floor and outside on the grass. We have had dance parties in the empty living room. We have laughed and I have cried.  We watched our son, now a fourteen years old, paint, repair, and learn new skills that one day we hope he will remember doing them here – at his first home.  His memories of this home are not like my own since he was so young, yet he will have new ones of his very own from this time we are all spending together.

 If these walls could talk, I hope they would happily share the same memories echoing that they were embraced with love, laughter, friendship, and family.  Closing the door for the final time is surreal.  It is a tangible closure of that chapter in our lives.  Now, it is time for the next person to create memories in this home and I hope, love it the way we did – if we are lucky, maybe even more.