As I walk through each room of my childhood home with my camera in hand, I feel a wave of nostalgia wash over me. I crouch down on the soft, beige living room carpet, capturing the vibrant floral wallpaper that has seen countless family gatherings. I take pictures of the dining room adorned in gray and rose, the sturdy oak cabinets of the kitchen, my bright green bedroom carpet, and even the slippery linoleum that often sent my young daughters tumbling during our visits. I want to remember it all; I want to hold onto it forever.
It was the middle of winter in South Dakota when my parents made the decision to sell the house that had been my haven since I was thirteen. My mom had been lamenting the outdated décor for ages, and when a tempting offer came along, it felt like fate. The process moved quickly; they sold the house, spent a few weeks searching for a new one, and were set to close by the end of March.
I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing my old home one last time, so I packed up my daughters—then aged 7 and 2—and embarked on a 10-hour journey across the Midwest to bid farewell to my childhood sanctuary. This certainly wasn’t the relaxing spring break I had planned, but there was an undeniable pull to make the trip.
As we turned onto the street where I grew up, our minivan loaded with suitcases, electronic devices, and even a portable potty, I felt a lump in my throat. The melancholic strains of The Rolling Stones filled the air, and tears streamed down my cheeks as we pulled into the familiar steep driveway. I had parked my old 1989 Oldsmobile there countless times during my teenage years.
When my parents first shared their plans to move—albeit to a house just five minutes away—a storm of emotions surged within me. I was engulfed in sadness for the rooms that would no longer be mine and clung to the memories they held. I questioned their decision to leave behind our comfortable old home, deeming it impractical and maybe even foolish. Honestly, I felt a twinge of anger towards them.
As a mother, I’ve made a conscious effort to maintain my identity amidst the chaos of parenting. I battle feelings of guilt and self-doubt as I carve out time for my career, friendships, and personal interests. I encourage my kids to engage in their own activities when I need to focus on work or socializing. I remind myself that by not making them the center of my universe, I’m paving the way for them to become fulfilled individuals with their own passions. Yet, I found it hypocritical that I couldn’t extend the same understanding to my parents. They are individuals too, deserving of a fresh start in a home that brings them joy without worrying about how it affects me.
It dawned on me that this chapter was no longer about me. The home where I discovered my identity, where I cried into pastel pillows and navigated the awkwardness of adolescence, held memories that were distinctly mine. But when I moved away for college, my parents continued to create their own experiences within those walls—ones that didn’t revolve around me. Despite no longer living there, the house remained a safe haven, a time capsule where I could reconnect with my past selves. As I closed the door for the final time, a realization hit me: I would never again be held by a place in quite the same way.
Now, my parents are embarking on a new journey. When I visit them, I will stay in a guest room that lacks the history I cherished. I will relish their hospitality and enjoy our time together, witnessing their joy in a new stage of life. If you’re interested in other aspects of family life and parenting, check out this post for more insights.
For those exploring at-home insemination options, Make A Mom offers reliable kits to help you navigate this process. Additionally, Parents.com provides excellent resources about the IVF process and home insemination.
Summary
Saying goodbye to my childhood home was an emotional journey filled with nostalgia, grief, and a realization of the personal growth my parents and I have experienced. As I reflect on my memories and the new chapter my parents are beginning, I find comfort in knowing that each of us must forge our own path while cherishing the past.
Leave a Reply