The following is kinda just me rambling out some of my thoughts, so read if you wasn’t, though I’m not guaranteeing cohesive or inspiring thoughts.
I had a picture of what it would be like when we fist started to move. I envisioned myself in the car, crowded by piles of last minute packing, craning my neck to see one last glimpse of what had been my home for 10+ years, tired, emotional, full of apprehensions and secret regrets.
Isn’t it strange how different things can be? My imagined scenario was ruined by two things: 1. It was dark, and therefore I couldn’t look back and see the unlit house, no matter how much the dramatic side in me wanted to. 2. I had none of those feelings that I thought I would experience.
Wow, how lame. But overall, probably much prefered. (As a side note, isn’t it strange how when you are comforting someone, a lot of your own worries are forgotten? Even if that “someone” is a collection of cats in various crates, trying to calm them because their worries are so much stronger than any of yours. I’m glad they adjusted so well, they’re already getting back into their old habits at grandma’s, and are content to lay with me as I read for hours and hours trying to cram in a biography I have to finish pretty soon here… but that’s getting off topic)
I think one of the major things that I realized and therefore helped me along the process, was the fact that it wasn’t the house that I loved, it was the memories. It was the parties that took place in the kitchen, the late night escapades of my siblings and myself, it was all the things I day dreamed about in my room in the quiet of the night, it was the thought of the indoor water fight that had the ceiling drenched (and us kids in trouble, no doubt). It wasn’t the walls and rooms themselves, it was the things I associated with them.
But memories don’t need walls to keep them in your mind, and if that house was demolished, the things that happened in it would still stand in my memory.
I wonder what memories I’ll make in the new place, with new adventures to discover and millions of more ways to plot and schemes to enact… and maybe that wondering is why I still have no regrets with leaving that house, because that part of my life is over, and I’m ready to move forward, taking the memories with me and leaving the rest.