At 11, I was naive. Telling people that I’d be attending school in another area kind of made me feel unique, and special. But at the time it meant I was leaving what I knew.

For months we drove up the highway, hoping to see the slab poured. But nothing. Just mounds of dirt and overgrown grass. My Mum would get frustrated. Disappointed, because it meant we had to wait even longer.

But eventually time caught up and the foundation was laid. Cemented. It was strong. It had to be because it was about to support 20 years worth of life, of memories, of love. Then the frame went up, roof, walls, windows, doors, piece by piece it all came together. Over the years the ground would settle and the foundation would move with it, cracking slightly as the years went on and the clay beneath it shifted. But the walls never moved, they never buckled, they never showed signs of weakness. They were strong. They held the house together. Each and everyone of them.

As you know, Friday night dinners became a ritual there. Weeks upon weeks. Months upon Months. Every Friday – for years.

What was once just a foundation under a house had now become a home. And the people in it, each of us, all part of that home, really came to make it what it was. Family.

20 years is a long time. A long time to get familiar. And a long time to let go. Even though aspects of the foundation of that home had succumb to the weather that is life, at its core we are all still together. But eventually time caught up once again and it was our time to say goodbye.

Piece by piece we took everything off of shelves. Out of cupboards. From rooms. Off of walls. Much of it went to knew homes, somewhat symbolic of us giving pieces of ourselves to others in the world to hopefully enjoy it all just as much as we did. As each part of the home was given away, packed up or moved on, the echo in it got louder and louder. Making way for emptiness once again. A void that needs to be filled.

I don’t know much about the new people that will move in. I hear they are a family. With young kids I think too. And that warms me. The thought that new memories will be made there to fill out the echoes gives me a sense of serentity and peace that this feeling of pain won’t last forever. That I won’t mourn for too long.

I know a home is as much about the people in it than the bricks and mortar that makes it, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. I feel in each of the bricks there is a bit of each of us left there. All those that we have ever known, welcomed there, into our home. All our friends and family who shared that home with us over the years, left a bit behind there.

I truly hope that whoever takes over home enjoys it just as much as we all did, if not more. That their lives are enriched just like ours has been.

On this day I ask God to unite all the love and energy that accumulated over those 20 years, and combine it into a dense ball of energy, put it out into the universe and to manifest something new, something that we can start anew in, to do it all over again. That would be a privledge. And honour. To home.

Goodbye.

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