There's no place like home...

"People are always telling you that change is a good thing.
But all they're really saying is that something you didn't
want to happen at all... has happened."
~You've Got Mail

Today - September 30, 2012 - marks the day. The last day that the house I've called "home" for 17.5 years can any longer be called "mine." Today marks the day that we are forced to revisit our final goodbyes as we realize, once and for all, that we will never go home again. Mom and Dad are officially moved out and tomorrow, at the turn of another month, my home - my beautiful home - will belong to someone new. Tomorrow. Tomorrow... home will be just a memory.

On August 22, 2012, I said goodbye to my home for the last time. As I took myself on one last tour through the beautiful house and the luscious garden I've taken advantage of all these years, I was accompanied by my ever-photo-bombing, best kitty-friend, Nimbus. We're secret friends, of course, because he'd never admit he actually loves me. But he does.

We walked and explored for the last time, and I couldn't help but reflect on the millions of memories this house contained. As I wandered through my childhood one final time, each memory found its resurrection; flowing as the tears in my eyes.

When they move in to my house, will they know that this is the room that my mommy worked so hard to turn into every girl's dream princess room?

Will they know that this is where Nimbus slept for all those years as a kitten?

Will they remember that this door has to stay closed - unless they want to be eaten alive by daddy long legs? 

Will they know how to refurnish the deck?

Will they remember pruning the bushes outside with Andrew, trying to make a fort - then telling Dad about it? Will they remember Dad telling us that we could have a real fort if we wanted? Will they remember spending hours with Dad building the play house? What about the excitement we felt as Dad blew our minds with the idea of a two-story fort. Will they remember cutting the hole in the door for our new kitty?

Will they remember how Mom made the windows look like actual shutters?

Will they remember the slumber parties spent here? The countless scary stories told here? Will they remember the hours spent here just escaping from the world and pretending no one knew where I was? Will they remember that this is actually Nimbus's house so he can escape from the rain when the garage door is closed?

Will they remember the time that Dad bought sand from Blake, Sand, and Gravel and Andrew and I spent hours in the back of his pick up truck learning how to build tunnels with our hands? Will they remember how Dad secretly made this frame after seeing us play in his truck? Will they remember how he wouldn't tell us what it was for until we had a new sand box to play with? Will they remember the happiness that day?

Will they remember the wild lavender that once grew here? Will they remember how fun it was getting to cut it back each year? Will they remember that the water spigot is always covered in spiders and to water the tomato garden, they have to use that spigot? 

Will they remember that under here is where kayaks live? Will they understand how amazing it is to accidentally mow over honeysuckle shoots? Will they remember the first time I hit my head on the deck cuz I didn't know I was that tall?

Will they remember the time Andrew and I accidentally introduced snake grass to the yard right here and caused way too many stressful hours and dollars to be spent in it's removal? Will they remember how I always dreamed of climbing on top of those window peaks to study? And how I never did?

Will they keep the lilac bushes and think of Sun Valley every time they bloom? Will they take care of my long stemmed rose plant my mommy gave to me? Will they know that this is the garden's weak spot for letting deer inside?

Will they remember fighting monsters outside with Jennifer and exiling them off this island? What about how that tree didn't always cover that rock? Will they remember all the types of mint and catnip that grew here, and how Nimbus would always roll in it?

Will they remember eating lunch on this rock with Andrew after Kindergarten? Will they remember being so excited that it had the perfect step up, because we weren't big enough to climb up the rock without it? Will they remember when we got the kiwi trees and learning that trees had a gender?

Will they remember all the precious years of berries this beautiful raspberry patch has given us? 

Will they remember chasing Nimbus up this arbor when he was just a kitten, or how we only ever got fruit off this vine once? 

Will they remember magnifying-glassing ants out in dirt in this empty patch of garden? Will they remember Andrew and Kevin stomping out the fire patches back here? What about the hours spent with the shredder, fighting over who got to shred next? Will they remember being sad I couldn't listen to my new CD player while shredding because it was too loud so I had to wear ear plugs?

Will they ever see the house at this angle?

Will they know how many years it took for us to get blueberries off these bushes?

Will they remember the first time we got carrots out of the yard, pretending to be bunny rabbits?

Will they think of the Beck's every time they see a slug, and how they used to get paid for snipping them in half? Will they remember to plant peas in this box, so they can grow up the fence?

Will they remember to plant cucumbers, lettuce, parsley, kale, beats, carrots, and 50 other un-namable vegetables in this box?

Will they remember to pick the strawberries throughout all the summer months because we have ever-bearing and june-bearing plants? Will they try to climb the trees like we used to? 

Will they know that this is the best place to plant tomatoes? Will they remember that getting to water this bed was the best summer chore of all? Will they cut their feet on these rocks because they're too lazy to go get shoes?

Will they remember back when we used to be able to swing this gate shut? Before it rusted? Will they remember that it has to stay closed so the deer don't get in?

Will they remember how many times we tried to get rid of the raspberry plants here? Will they remember when there used to be a basketball hoop there? Will they remember trying to climb it to change the height of the hoop, or just trying to see who could get the highest?

Will they remember when this yard used to be our baseball park? Will they remember the campfire pit, or the compost pile here that mysteriously grew watermelon one year? Will they remember mowing both the back lawn, and this lawn in order to keep our baseball park nice?

Will they remember all the time Dad spent keeping these trails mowed? Will they remember that this circle is the best spot for reading the Baby-Sitter's Club in the summertime? Will they, after years of escaping to this spot, learn that Mom could see me here the whole time?

Will they remember chasing the basketball into these bushes after every missed shot? Will they remember that "if you eat the white berries you'll die within half an hour?" 

Will they remember how many pets have been buried here? Will they remember the beautiful hedges that once grew here?

Will they remember the daffodils that pop up every spring? Will they remember how to test and see if the electric fence is off? 

Will they remember that Nimbus is the real King of the house? Will they know how many driveway lights Dad has had to replace after terrible backwards-drivers come to visit? Will they ever be as good at backing out of this driveway as we are?

Will they remember the gorgeous roses that grace this arbor every summer? Or how we rarely ever open that fence?

Will they remember that they're supposed to use icicle lights and big colored lights at Christmas time to turn ours into the gingerbread house? Or how weird we thought it was at first to have a bright red door?

It was at this point in our walk that I got my answer. No. Of course they won't remember these things. 

They won't remember the hours I spent on this floor,

looking at this ceiling, 

sitting by the heater, and thinking about everything there ever was to think about. They'll never know how many nights I slept there, or how I got through all of life's hardest problems by thinking in this spot.

They'll never remember the 17 Christmas's we've spent in this room. They'll never know that they're supposed to cover up the tree so no one can see it until we're all together. They'll never remember the gorgeous bows Santa put on each present that one year, or the tower he built the next. 

They'll never know that this was supposed to be the time-out spot, but was quickly converted to a reading nook after every book ended up on the ground from a very angry time out-ed child.

They'll never know the care Mom took to paint this mermaid for me - to keep the bad dreams away. They'll never remember that the paint chipped off the wall is from my cassette tape player - putting us to sleep to the Scripture Scouts or Safety Kids.

They'll never remember the time we hid under this sink in an epic game of hide and seek, and in turn flooded the entire house by a moved pipe. They'll never remember how scared I was the night our smoke alarms were going off, or how hard I laughed that Aaron never actually woke up, and Emily fell asleep catching a river of water coming out of her smoke alarm - and knew from that, that there was no fire.

They'll never remember how the smoke alarms used to flash orange, and that I was positive it was fire coming out of the smoke alarm. They'll never remember how Mom had to tape the smoke alarms so I could sleep without seeing the orange flashes. They'll never remember that the first thing I noticed when I came home from college was that Mom and Dad got new smoke alarms. Or that only I would notice that.

They'll never remember the view before all the trees grew up. They'll never remember how scared we were the first time Nimbus was found on the roof. They'll never remember how Andrew sat on this roof and played his guitar, overlooking the ocean. They'll never know how many times we've mowed that lawn or how the best feeling in the world is to mow in the rain. They'll never remember disguising my Backstreet Boys CD so I could listen to it while mowing and Andrew wouldn't know.

They'll never remember all the times I dreamed of being Rapunzel, or Juliet on that balcony. They'll never know how much I wanted wedding pictures there.

They'll never remember how this was only the perfect hiding spot for the first 20 times we played hide and seek - then it was the first spot we'd look. They'll never remember hauling 50lb bags of salt down these stairs. Er, watching Dad and Aaron haul 50lb bags of salt down these stairs. 

They'll never remember how I always hated this stain on the wall cuz it looked like a deformed bird. Or how long I stared at it trying to make it look like something more pleasant. 

They'll never know that this is where the games, music, movies, and art goes. And that this is called the "Hall of Cupboards." They'll never remember that this is the best hall to test new-sock-sliding.

They'll never know that this banister is to be wrapped in a garland and pinned with red bows at Christmas time.

They'll never know that Nimbus gets let in through that window, and the ninjas sneak out that same one. They'll never remember wishing that the door under the bar went all the way through the cupboards so we could climb around.

They'll never remember that that window is the BBQ window. 

They'll never remember that regardless of how small you are, you're not small enough to fit down the laundry shoot. 

Even if Mom and Dad are in a meeting, and you want food and don't want to use the stairs, the laundry shoot is not the way to go. You'll get stuck. Trust me.

They'll never remember chasing Nimbus behind Mom and Dad's bed, before they blocked off the ends.

They'll never remember that this spot is for Father's Interviews. Or for doing exercise videos with Mom on their TV.

They'll never remember my super secret collection of pictures in the top of my closet.

Or the way my room glows at night when my Christmas lights are on. They'll never remember wishing on each and every star on the ceiling of this room, or how Shar Bear left them for me. They'll never remember spending 6 years to make that quilt bit by bit each summer, knowing that -even though I didn't understand marriage at the time- I'd never lose my sister. Because we had that quilt.

Of course they'll never remember those things. They'll never know any of it. Because those are my memories. 

And even though I spent that last walk around my beautiful home with tears in my eyes - even though this new family will never know any of it - it's okay. Because I always will. And no matter what happens, those memories will always be there. Even though we're not there anymore.

And it's okay that we're sad. It's only natural after being blessed with such an amazing thing for so long. If we weren't sad, it means we didn't appreciate it as much as we should have. All that makes sense is that we're moving on to something greater. And in the end, we'll be so happy we didn't just stay put because we were scared to move on. It's hard, but I know it's worth it.

And just because we're never going to live there again, doesn't mean we've ditched our beautiful home. It means we're letting someone else make their own memories with it. I had 17 years of the best memories a kid could hope for in this house. It's only right to give someone else a turn to make memories in this perfect house. I've left my mark, and I've been more than blessed to spend all but 4 years of my life in this beautiful place. And even if I never get to go back - I'll never stop visiting the memories. 

The memories will always be mine.

I guess all that's left to say is goodbye. Goodbye to the only place I've ever really called home.

Thanks for all the beautiful memories.