Tuesday, March 12, 2013

A visit to old memories

Playing in the creek for hours is what I remember most.  I hear the sound of the water trickling over the oversized rocks of this mesmerizing spot.

Recently someone  was recounting to me the joy they had in returning to the home they had grown up in.  It obviously was quite nostalgic for them.

Not long ago, I also had the privilege of doing just that.  It was something I just felt I needed to do.
As I made the pilgrimage  to my childhood home, I made a detour to the cemetery.  That detour is for another post, but it was a healing thing for me to do.

I drove to the home, wondering if the new owners would think I was insane, or at the very least, a foolish woman!  Think about it.  A stranger knocks on your door and states "Hey, let me in.  I used to live here and would like to see my old room!"   It is, for sure, mysteriously unusual.

Scanning the yard as I drove in, it looked slight compared to the days I had to mow that seemingly mammoth ground!  There were days I just knew I would be mowing into the twilight hours.
I plodded my way to the front steps, observing that I did not trip on one particular place in the sidewalk.  Funny what our minds remember.
I was met at the front door by a young man  and a presentable little boy who kept saying, "lady, who are you?"  I respectively exchanged niceties and explained the fact that I once lived here and would it be ok to walk around the yard.
He was very gracious and asked if I wanted to take a look inside.  Would I?  Absolutely!  I tried to hide the fact that was indeed why I came!  Before entering, I asked if the wall of mirrors was still intact.  Right then he knew that I was for sure telling the truth that I had once occupied this space.  Noone would have known about those hideous mirrors!  They weren't there!  The owner stating those were the first to go!
Gone was the outdated blue carpet in the livingroom and hallway.  Traditional hardwood floors replaced it.
The little boy grabbed my hand and tugged me down the familiar hallway stating "come and see my room."
I stopped abruptly, taken back by the fact that I was standing in the doorway of my old room!
The little boy called me, "come on...see my toys."
The room looked so much smaller than I had remembered.  How could that be?  Dusting and making my bed seemed to take hours back then.
I was jolted back to reality when the father uttered, "this was your room wasn't it?"
The little boy's eyes widened with anticipation, "was it, was it really?"
"yes," I affirmed.  The father was observant to my feelings and asked if I wanted to see the rest of the house.
Touching the walls, I could hear our laughter and remember the bygone days of this meaningful place.  It is no longer ours to make memories.  That task belongs now to a little boy whose joy will fill that space with new stories.





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