When the day comes for us to walk out of our empty house and close the door, I know I’ll cry.
I won’t cry for the four walls, for the incredible mountain view, for the backyard that we worked on so hard, for the shiny appliances (okay, maybe I will cry for the washer + dryer…), or for the 1789 square feet.
I’ll cry because of the MEMORIES. All of the life that has happened here. The profound happiness.
I’ll remember long talks with Tim in our master bedroom and out on the grass. Being intertwined in his arms on our white comforter.
I’ll remember holding my firstborn baby on the porch swing, staring at her perfect rosebud lips, kissing her tiny toes – delirious from sleeplessness and joy.
I’ll remember the pitter-patter of little feet on the tile floor, the sound of laughter echoing in our great room, the spaghetti-faced grin at the dinner table.
I’ll remember the peace of bringing baby #2 home from the birth center, of sleeping all together the very same night that I had her.
I’ll remember “toy parties” in the girls’ bedrooms, rolling peanut butter balls, sleeping on mattresses on the floor, reading chapter books at bedtime, carrying babies on my hip all day long. The neediness. The wonder. The magic. Of these days.
Even so, it’s not really the house that brings a lump to my throat, that keeps making me catch my breath. It’s the LOVE here (Oh, the remarkable, radiant love in this house!) and the MEMORIES.
The truth is, though, that we’ll bring those things with us into our little RV. Because they’re safely stored in our hearts.
I’ll definitely cry when I stand in the middle of our empty house that last time, when I close the door tightly behind us.
But I also know that this closed door will lead to many other doors. This is just the beginning.
How many times have you moved in your adulthood? If you had to move today, would you have a hard time leaving your house behind?
P.S. Want to buy our house?