It looks like any house in Our Neighborhood, USA. Modest, middle class, comfortable. When you see it you think it is a nice color, the lawn and hedge well kept. When you see it you think a nice family must live there. You think all those things and you are right, to a degree. A nice family did live there. My family.
This is my childhood home. This is where my sister and I grew up. This is where we listened to the Beatles for the first time. This is where we woke up early on Christmas morning. This is where we kissed our boyfriends good night. This is where we put on our wedding gowns. This is where we brought our children. This is where we grieved our father's death. This is where we lost our mother by minutes.
This is our final step.
This is for sale.
What is not for sale are the memories. They live with us. Every day. Every time we want them, they are there. Every one of them.
It's someone else's turn now. Another family. Another life to be lived in this house, in those rooms, in that yard.
I hope their turn is as wonderful as ours was.
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