My daughter and I decided to drive by the house where I grew up. I lived there from age nine until I graduated from college and got married. My parents lived there for thirty-eight years. They moved away only out of necessity and both of them died within a year of leaving this house.
There was a For Sale sign out front. “Let’s drive up there,” I said. “If someone’s home we’ll just tell them who we are.” My daughter rolled her eyes a bit but drove in. No one was home – in fact, the house was empty. So we peeked in all the windows and even made pictures of what we saw.
The house was built in 1930 as a retreat away from town, even though it is now well within the city limits. It is situated on a riverbank and has been added on to numerous times to become the rambling Cape Cod it is today.
As my daughter said, it was a trip down memory lane. Good times and happy memories came to mind. Some troubling situations came to the surface as well. But isn’t that life in its fullest? It takes the valleys to make us appreciate the mountains. And it takes family and friends to get us through the low spots.
I am thankful for everything that my parents meant to me.
Here’s a photo of the house. Can’t you see some of those stories waiting to be told?