But today I want to just blog a little bit about myself. About home.
This weekend I said goodbye to my childhood home. My parents are moving to North Carolina a week from today. It's something they've been longing to do for a while, and they're finally making it happen. They'll be living with my grandma and spending time with my mom's side of the family, and enjoying much, much milder winters than those they've experienced for over 30 years in Iowa. I'm so happy for the decision they've made and I know they're eager to get going.But I'd be lying if I said it was an easy weekend. Time with my parents is always sweet and it's so fun to watch them as grandparents with Gideon. But as the weekend wore on, it became so very real to me how many "lasts" I was experiencing. It was my last weekend in that house, the house I lived in for the first 22 years of my life.
My parents' house is what, in my mind, I still think of as "home." I know that there are lots of sayings about home... "Home is where the heart is" and "Home is wherever I am with you." And in that sense of the word, I am at home with Nick and Gideon. But in terms of a house, the house on 6th Avenue in Sioux Center, Iowa is home. It's where I ripped the wallpaper off in my bedroom when I was mad about taking a nap (I was 2). It's where I learned to cook and bake. It's where I spend countless summers in the basement with friends. It's where I hung the laundry out on the line. It's where I experienced family for the first and most influential time in my life. It's where I moved back after a rough semester in college. So, I'm sentimental about losing my "home." I know that when we go visit my parents in North Carolina at Christmastime, some of those feelings will be there... they will be there, some of the familiar things of home will be there. But I know it will never feel like going home like driving down to Iowa has felt like going home to me.
And then, today, I spent the day working on paperwork, making phone calls, and doing my job as a social worker. And as I drove home, I reflected on how many of my students have likely never lived in a house. Or, if they have, there's a good chance they've not lived in the same house all their life. I remember one student saying they've only lived in an apartment. Another is considered "highly mobile" because her family has moved more than once in the past school year. And that gives me perspective. As much as I'm mourning the sense of losing my "home," I think about countless others who don't have a place that they can consistently call home. Or don't know what it feels like to rip the wallpaper off of their wall at nap time, but are just happy to have a bed (or a couch) to sleep in.
So, I'm sad to have said goodbye to my childhood home. It's hard. But I had a great, blessed childhood where I was lucky enough to live in the same house in a stable environment. And I'm beyond thankful for that.
(story time with Papa. Melts my heart.)
