Thursday, May 22, 2014

selling 836

My parents house went up for sale today.

I didn't really think I was going to care about this house. It's not the house that I grew up in, since my dad's job has moved my parents a few times since then. They spent a few years in California, a couple years at my grandmother's house so that my mom could take care of her while she was sick with cancer, and eventually got back to Naperville, my hometown. It felt like they made it back home at the time. It was a nice house, and with years and lots and lots of time, effort, and updates, they made it even nicer.  Somehow, even though I never lived there long, it became "home" to me. I even had it programmed in my phone as "home," even though it was really never my home. I only lived there about 6 months after college.

Somehow, I've found, that's not what home is about. In fact, their home number is still in my phone as "Home." I haven't lived there in 9 years, and I have a home of my own. But there's something about where you open presents on Christmas morning, or the fact that your parents live upstairs (even when you don't live there). It still was home, even if I never really lived there long.

As a little girl, I remember a sign that hung on our wall. It read, "You never really leave a place you love. Part of it you take with you, leaving a part of you behind." It came with us to every house we've lived in, and I've never forgotten what it says.

When you make memories somewhere, it's hard to leave them there. I remember feeling that way when we left our Texas house, and again when we sold our house on Marblehead Court. It was just a house, but was it? I think my 10 year old self would disagree. The memories we made in that house were ours and they happened there, within those walls. And the same thing happened in 836.

My dad has always talked about building a bar. Since I can remember. He's always said it will be a gathering place, where friends and family come over, and I always imagined it (even before it was built) accessorized from wall to wall with fishing memorabilia. It was finally built, all of those years later, and the amount of floor plans, hanging decorations, and collecting items to fit the theme never ceased. 

And it did become a gathering place for friends and family. It became a reason for people to stop by after going out to dinner. It became a place to make memories, and it just absolutely breaks my heart to see my Dad give it up.

In my heart, I know that this is all just stuff. I know that there are more important things in life than a house, than a bar, than stuff. I truly do know that. I also know that my parents will be okay, and I am grateful they have each other, and us. But I would be absolutely lying through my teeth if I didn't think it was sad for them to sell this house. It's heartbreaking. 

I logged onto the MLS today to see the pictures, and had somehow convinced myself I wasn't going to really care. I just wanted to see the way the place looked. I started scrolling through, and of course, tears. Lots of tears. And instead of just seeing the deck and the bar in the basement, and the family room, I saw my family hanging out in those rooms, and I don't know how to explain the way I felt other than it just hurt and I felt mad at the world. I felt like life isn't fair, and that I am sick of seeing bad things happen to good people. It made me feel like we're lied to our whole life when we're told "If you work hard, you'll have nice things, you'll succeed..." Yeah. 

And I just feel so helpless in the situation, which I think is perhaps the worst of it all.  All I can think about is the two people who have literally done everything for me in my life to not feel sad, or to help me from going through something hard and doing everything in their power to protect me, and not being able to return the favor. It is hard. I know they don't expect anything from me, but I just wish there was something I could do. 

I do realize they will be okay. Everyone is healthy. They'll get a new house, make new memories, and life will go on--it has to. I just had a harder time seeing 836 on the market, than I ever really thought I would. Goodbye 836. You've been a great home to all of us.