Today I found out my parents put the house on the market. They’re going to sell my home. Homes are shells within which we live, but when a home is left behind a body misses the familiarity of the place. I’m going to miss the place.
Another thing I never expected happened Saturday. The church I attended during college burned. It was over 80 years old, made of brick, and absolutely beautiful. It had stained glass windows and a huge mural which had been painted sometime in the 1930’s. Now most of it is gone and they will have to bulldoze the remainder in order to keep it from falling and hurting anybody.
I find myself wondering why I care. Everything I know about the world tells me that nothing is constant, nothing will remain forever, but when you’re living among the change it’s hard not to take it personally.
I spent most of high school in the home. I spent two summers from college there. I lived there two additional occasions after college. Video games, TV shows, poker games… Roxie the dog. Family get togethers. So many memories.
I spent many Sunday mornings in the church, drove friends from college there with me, sat in the wooden pews, stared at the mural, sang from the hymnals. I went to weddings there as well (Rob + Jill, Ben + Kara, Pat + Julia).
The memories will last. Until Alzheimer’s or death, whichever comes first. But knowing the places are (or will be) gone leaves me looking for something more constant.
