So if you know me or listen to me Tweet, you know we are moving from Indiana to Vermont next week.
Right now I am taking a break from packing. It is really sad as I watch the warm comfy place we have called home for 7 years become just a shell of a house. It’s bare walls and countless nail holes are just a sad reminder of what it once was.
This is the house we brought our babies home in.
Chase took his first steps here and Charlie took his over there.
That hallway was the scene of the tragedy that ended in our first trip to the ER for stitches.
The bathroom was home to my sore bottom for many, many days as I sat on the floor to potty train three boys in it.
That mark on the wall has a funny story behind it.
I know the corners of this house like I know my back hand. Every inch is filled with memories. Both happy and sad.
This is the corner I cried in when I miscarried our fourth baby.
That corner over there is where I was sitting when I heard my Grandmother passed away.
If these walls could talk…it would be really loud in here.
If memories could be seen with our eyes I imagine they would be spilling out of the windows and flooding the streets.
You know, the ones we walked countless nights with strollers and learned to ride bikes on.
If these walls could talk they would have so many stories to tell.
As I pack up the boxes in each room, I imagine myself packing the memories as well. That’s the great part about memories. You can take them with you. They don’t cling to the walls of this house. The cling to the walls of our hearts.
And nothing, not even a billion big ugly sad tears can wash them away.
Good bye house. Thank you for being our home. For protecting us on stormy nights and holding the laughter and tears every so tightly in your four walls.
I hope and pray you bless the next family who lives here the way you have blessed us.