I'm like my dad -- sentimental. In fact, I think I'm a pack rat, not because I inherited the trait from my mom, but because I'm sentimental, like my dad. My mom collects and holds onto things because she thinks she might need them in the future. I collect and hold onto things because I attach so much meaning to
them. I recognize the problem in this, and yet I still have about 20 boxes of stuff from my parents' house: clothes, school papers, books, toys, and crafts. It's ridiculous, really, that one person can acquire so many things in 28 years of life.
I went through all 20+ boxes of things a week ago. I threw out a lot. I went through my "childhood" and remembered a lot of silly things. My family went through a lot of boxes and piles of things from the last two decades (and some older) and laughed and yelled and pared down. We put what was left into two big trucks and sent my parents packing. They started for Texas
last night around 11:00. For most of the day, I felt fine (apart from this yucky cold) because I was working hard. But when we were all sitting on or standing around the stairs, and my dad said one final prayer in that house, I started to lose it. I opened my eyes after the "amen," and Summer and mom were crying, too. Clay and Brooks were fine, of course, and Lily was, too. Macy was shy, and I think she had watery eyes. I have never seen my dad cry, and although last night was no exception, I think it's the closest I've ever seen him get. I've never said good-bye to my parents without knowing when I might see them again -- a luxury that a lot of people don't have in life. I am perhaps immature for my age . . . At any rate, it was hard to say good-bye.
"Are you going to write a sad post on your blog?" Brooks asked, as I was taking pictures of our empty house.
And so maybe I am. But I want to remember how I felt at that moment. We had a lot of good times in this house, Brooks, and even though you are not as attached to things as me (and I think that's a rare and divine quality), I am. I am a sentimentalist, and here are the memories of 85 Mountain Brook Drive that I am sentimental about:
- Summer and Clay were married in the living room.
- We found Lucky and Forrest while we were just moving into the house.
- Lexi and I camped out with the kittens on the deck one night.
- I had my first dates -- I remember sitting in the driveway having long chats with silly boys. (And yes, they were just chats.)
- Mom dropped Blake's CDs down the stairs, and they all broke.
- Lily fell down the stairs.
- "SHAKE IT!"
- Brooks and Blake went on missions. Mom had missionary stuff all over the place for three years.
- Blake painting the 18' walls and trim.
- Lindsey's first Christmas as a newlywed.
- The "river" in the backyard that didn't dry up for a long time.
- The never-ending battle against opossums.
- Lily's first steps in the living room.
- Lily's first haircut. Oops!
- Mom's cancer.
- Burying Forrest on the hill.
- Countless phone calls while dad was the branch president.
- Watching "The Wizard of Oz" and listening to Pink Floyd as a family. (I think dad was out of town.)
- Waking mom up from nightmares while dad was out of town.
- Playing with Sam in the backyard.
- Playing with Shelley and Jodi after school.
- Painting Lexi's room purple.
- Painting my room apple green. Mom hated it.
- Helping Summer and Clay put puzzles together in her room.
- Brooks sleeping on the floor after his mission.
- Mom's craft room.
- Dad's cave.
Mostly I remember the people that came and went in that house. A lot of them stayed in our lives for good -- the best ones are Clay, Lindsey, Jacki, and Adam.
Anyway, it was a good house and a good 16 years of living in it.
MommyDaddy, I will miss it, and I will miss you in it. We all had some crazy fights in there, but I think you both did a good job of making it a home that I cherish.
I love you!
Have fun in TEXAS!
Make better memories there!
Thing I'm thankful for: my family.