The chart that marked our growth is down.
The sink that I pretended to do dishes at is empty.
The can opener has reached its life span.
The stairs that my sister would thump up. The stairs that I came down in my homecoming dress. The stairs that we all at one time or another fell down cursing them. The stairs that were entertainment when paired with a mattress, box or most recently blow up easter bunnies.
Every place of the house is a memory. The time my son found paint and spread its cheerful color EVERYWHERE.
The room where we sisters put duct tape on the floor to separate our sides. It worked until I had to ask permission to cross to the bathroom.
The carpet dents that marked where we layed our sleepy heads and the cupboards where we kept children.
We loved that house and we will love another. But it is okay to mourn it like a lost friend, a lot went on in those four walls.
Love your guts.
ReplyDeleteAw, moving makes me sad. It was a good house. It was a good block, neighborhood, and friends. One by one people have left and it makes me wonder how long my parents will stick it out :) Fun photos.
ReplyDelete