We purchase homes every day across the country and in every city throughout the world. Our homes come in every shape, size, and price imaginable. For many of us, they represent a little piece of the American dream. We raise families and create a lifetime of memories in them. They provide peace and security and so much more. So, when does a house go from being a house to a home?
I am one of the lucky ones who, at the moment, still have a connection to my childhood home. Our house was built in the fifties and my Dad helped to oversee the building. It’s a simple, two story home brimming from basement to attic with trunk loads of living. It was a palace to me.
During the early years my Mom, Dad, Sister and I lived there. My Dad passed away unexpectedly and my sister moved away, which left my Mom and I in the house. Several years later I married and moved out and my Mom stood strong along with the house.
I lived close by so I visited all the time. I spent many quiet moments sitting on the couch drinking in all the sweet moments. Remembering a Christmas tree over there, a sun-filled window where the cat loved to perch, my Mom setting the table for a holiday dinner, my Dad trying to schedule a time to get into the bathroom (not easy in a house filled with woman), and on and on. This was my connection to it all.
I must confess, I am a true homebody. I never liked to be far from home. The familiar surroundings and smells soothed me – they always have. When I was a young girl I tried to stay away at Girl Scout camp with the rest of the kids, but always ended up calling my parents to come and get me. I have been known to fake an illness so I could get back home. It became (and still is) a standing joke in our family. The only place I ever stayed was at the house of my best girlfriend from sixth grade. My parents waited for the phone call for them to come and get me, but much to their surprise I found a second home at her house.
Willow Road was my kingdom. I would ride my Schwinn through my three street world and knew I was just a few pedals away from the security of my house. I would stop at Uncle Rocky’s in the afternoon for a cream soda in a big, tall glass and after dinner pedal down the street to Aunty Bea’s to enjoy some ginger cookies and tea.
Somewhere between childhood friends and family, hot summer days, ice skating, swimming, putting on parades and plays, fishing at the dock, and knitting with my Grammy our house became a home.
A whole lot of life happens between sold and for sale!
I am still trying to figure out how to let her go.