Home is Where the Heart Is

I've had yet another huge and painful lesson in change the past several weeks. I've always been sentimental and held onto things too long. I suppose I will have to keep learning throughout my life that change and letting go is a part of life.

A few weeks ago, a fire started in the house that I grew up in and that I have returned to for holidays and family get-togethers since I left home after high school. My parents have lived in that house for almost 30 years. My grandfathers built it. It has always been a constant in my life. As an adult, my living address has always seemed to change every couple of years, and I would use my parents' address as a "permanent" one on my driver's license and other important documents. Naturally, I assumed it would always be there.

Well, after the fire and smoke got through with the house, there was not much left that was salvageable. Walking through a home you love and seeing piles of blackened belongings is a pretty heart-breaking experience. Then I returned to the house after the construction crew had gotten through stripping it down to the framing, it was a whole new dimension of heartache. I was taken back 30 years to when I was 7 and our new house was being constructed. It was probably as close to time travel as I'll ever get.

The plan at first was to rebuild the house. But owing to the many complicated workings of insurance (which I won't get into here), my parents are considering having the house torn down. I feel like I am losing a piece of myself. So much of who I am is connected to that place. But I have to remember that it is just a place and I will always have my memories. And, you know, when I look at my family who all survived the fire just fine, I have to be grateful that all I am mourning is a building.