My family home

Once upon a time, many years ago, before I grew up, went away to school, met my husband and got married, I lived in this house. Built by my father's parents in 1907 when Daddy was seven years old, it was a lovely home. It was gracious, comfortable, and lovingly cared for. It was the home of my childhood, filled with wonderful memories; the home I left when Bob and I got married.

My parents sold the house around 1963 because my father's job took them to Baltimore, Maryland, 40 miles down the road, and my parents have long since passed away. In the intervening years, it hasn't been maintained the way it was when my grandparents and parents owned it, and it has fallen into disrepair. Now it is vacant, and I fear that someday I will go back and find that it is no longer standing.

In a strange twist of fate, as my daughter and I got out of our car in front of the house to take a look around (and reminisce a bit), two teenage boys came down the street. I asked if anyone lived there, and one of the boys volunteered, "I used to." It turns out he was the son of a couple who bought the house around 10 years ago (I'm just guessing at the year) and had great dreams of renovating it and raising their family there. Unfortunately, their marriage fell apart. They moved away, but the mother has since returned and, according to my young informant, now lives "just up the street." He expressed regret over the condition of the house and told me how much he liked living there.

When a house is empty, voices no longer ring in the rooms that were once filled with love; no one mows the grass, sweeps the porch, fixes things that need repair, or paints the eaves (or anything else), and the house begins to fall apart. That is happening here in our old family home, and it brings tears to my eyes and more than a little pain to my heart. Will I return again? I have no reason to, but probably will because the memories of my childhood draw me back, even though I have no family left in the area. Next week I am going to Arizona to visit my sister for her 90th birthday. I hope we will share many memories of our years there, but I won't tell her about the condition of the house. The good memories will be enough.