Last Saturday Randy and I dropped our boys off at a drop-in day care for the day and trekked up to our old house to do some last minute cleaning and to pack of the last of our stuff.
People have asked me if I missed our old stomping ground and I wasn't really sure how to respond. Mostly I miss my friends, choir, and church home. I wasn't really missing the city itself. Until we went back. It's so beautiful and full of character there. We've moved to a much bigger city in a mostly non-University environment and it's just not the same. (Of course it's not the same, it's a different city!)
We ate lunch with our dear MOH Jennifer and watched the Red River Rivalry on the big screen. We then went to the house. It was the first time I had been back for 7 weeks or so, and it was emotional.
First I saw the fence that we recently put up to keep the boys in the yard when we played outside. Then the grassy spot where I took BB's Halloween pictures the day LB arrived surprisingly. Ugh. That made my heart ache. Then the fence where we used to wait for sweet Zaylin to come to our house. Then when she would leave BB would cry, "Zaylin away!" We don't have any neighbors here who come walking through our backyard to come play.
Then into the house where we first lived as husband and wife, the living room where we had our first kiss, the room formerly known as yellow where we brought BB home. The home where LB developed and grew in utero and where we brought him after he was born. We spent years of joy and heartache in that home and this was the last time I would see it.I mourned appropriately and engaged in more than my share of sentimentality.
As we left for the last time and I watched the garage door close slowly, shutting all of our history inside, I became very sad. But then I realized how blessed we are to be leaving that place all together as a family. It's a much happier occasion than leaving a home where your parents had lived and died, a room where your child slept the night before going to Jesus suddenly, or a home where your ex-husband or ex-wife still live. I decided not to feel sorry for myself at that point.
When we got home it really felt like home, while just hours before the old house still seemed like home. "It's nice to be home," I said, and realized what that meant.
Bye-bye Winecup Hollow. Thanks!