Saying Good-Bye

My house. Our home. With tears Lisa and I said good-bye to the house.

That little house was good to me for ten years. I have only live in my parents home longer. I never expected to stay there as long as I did. It was a fluke to rent it for as cheap as I did, and then a few years later, buy it for a steal.

Over the years the house began to fit like an old, worn sweatshirt; not the classiest piece of item but certainly something you felt comfortable in. In that house I got divorced and pulled my life back together. I watched Samantha go from two year old in potty training to a beautiful young woman. I brought Lisa to our first home together, and two years later, our son to his first home. Over the years we brought the house into the present by gutting the kitchen and starting from the studs out, redoing the bathroom, painting, and adding a ceiling fan here or a new light fixture there.

I know it's silly to think that house even cares. After all, it's just an inanimate object that demands time, resources, and work to keep up. But, still, I'll miss the creaking of the floors and the big red maple that sheds it's leaves late every year. I'll miss the low beams in the basement that always made walk with my head titled to one side. I'll miss the mural on Sam's wall and tinkering with some project around the house in my free time. I felt a relationship with that little old house. Does that make sense?

We're on the road to North Carolina. The snow is behind us, although for fun, I let the snow pile on the roof of the Rav4 to see how much I could bring down south. Leaving the house was the last paragraph in a chapter that I'm proud of and I'm looking forward to the next part of the story.