We hung our children’s pictures on the brick wall above the mantle above the fireplace where flames danced on Christmas morning or a cold winter’s evening.
We sometimes filled the house with friends, with family, and with noise, but on the day our youngest went to 1st grade the silence roared.
Buddy the parakeet flew around the screened porch and Honey chased squirrels in the yard.
We played games around the kitchen table and ate outside on warm summer days.
I sat on the edge of beds in clean and tidy empty rooms after the kids left one-by-one to go to college, to a new job in another city, to a wife.
Memories kept me company as they came alive through every doorway, around every corner, in every room.
We left that house to go to doctors’ appointments, school, baseball games, soccer practice, rugby, swimming meets, driving tests, dances, weddings, funerals, Alaska, and the movies, but one of the hardest things I’ve ever done is walk out the door for one last time.
The house is no longer our house, but will forever be in my heart, our family home.