The House That Built Me
Tonight as I write this post, a part of me is feeling very sad and nostalgic. Tonight is my last night in my childhood home. Tomorrow is the day I drive back to Chicago so I can go back to work on Monday. Because the fall sports pre-season is such a hectic time for our athletic department, along with classes starting up at the end of August, I am very unsure if I will be able to come back for one last visit to my childhood home in Michigan before my mom sells the house and moves into her new one. Let me explain this in a little more detail so y'all can understand what is happening in my life right now:
Right now, my mom and stepdad (Dan) are in the process of building a brand new house in New Boston, which is about 25 miles from our house right now in Dearborn Heights. Dan used to live in Brownstown, which is not far from New Boston, but ever since he and my mom started dating 6 years ago, the drive from his house to ours became pretty rough. After years of talking and thinking, my mom and Dan finally decided it was time for them to sell both of their houses and build a brand new one together - so that they can officially live together and share the life they've always wanted to together. My mom has grown very tired of living in Dearborn Heights (for various reasons), but more importantly, she has grown very tired of her commute from Dearborn Heights to where she boards her two horses in South Rockwood (another tiny town not far from New Boston and Brownstown; the people familiar with Wayne county and SE Michigan in general know this area is called Downriver). My mom is an avid horseback rider and spends a large portion of her time with her horses. So when it came time to decide where she and Dan wanted to start their new life together the answer was fairly easy: Downriver. Close to the horses, still close to both her family and Dan's, and out of the craziness that is Dearborn Heights. This news came around last Thanksgiving, and I was very excited for them. I wasn't exactly sure when all of this would be happening, but my mom was adamant that this happened next year. So, I told myself that last Thanksgiving and Christmas would be my last holidays in my childhood home. It was bittersweet, but I was completely fine with this.
As the months ticked by, more and more things started happening regarding this major change; Mom and Dan decided that they would build instead of buy, they decided which specific subdivision they wanted to build, they picked out the house design and everything associated with it, and then Dan even put his house on the market. Before I knew it, it was the end of June and Dan's house finally had an offer on it. And the new house was being built.. fast. Faster than anyone had expected... especially my mom. She hadn't expected this new house to be done until the New Year at the earliest. But then the real estate developers told her what progress was being made and that this house is probably gonna be ready before Thanksgiving, maybe even Halloween if the summer weather cooperates and orders on appliances come in on time. This news kind of set everyone into a panic: Dan's needs to close the sale on his house sooner rather than later, mom is nowhere near ready to show our current house and put it on the market, and Tess (my sister) is put even under more pressure to find a house for her to live in and start her daycare. As for me... it gives me less time than I had expected to say goodbye to my childhood home. This house is the only home I know. I was brought home from the hospital as a newborn to this house. So much has happened in this home in the last 23.5 years...
In the last 23.5 years, I have learned how to walk, run, do my first backflip, throw a baseball to my dad, read my beloved Harry Potter books, play with my American Girl dolls, and so much more... all in this house. The walls of this house have seen and heard so many things. Some great, some bad, some wonderful, some devastating. This house has seen it all.
The thing that gets me the most about leaving this house is saying goodbye to all of the work my dad put into it. Once I find the photos, I will post a picture of what this house looked like the day my parents bought in back in May 1993 and what it looks like now in July 2018 - you wouldn't even recognize it. Sure, its the same ranch-style home with 3 bedrooms 2.5 baths, a kitchen, living room, and basement, but it has come a LONG way in the last 25 years. My dad completely revamped the front porch and built the wooden posts framing the front door, he painted all of the trim surrounding the porch (including the garage door), he put all of the wainscoting in the halls, and he even transformed the tiny back porch into a full-on Florida-style room. He single-handedly built walls, put in a door, redid the roof, laid down the carpet.. The man did it all. He even came up with the design to turn our unfinished basement into the ultimate man-cave. The basement is the hardest thing for me to leave behind; its the part of the house my dad spent the most time and left his mark on. It is covered in Red Wings paraphernalia and the underground home to all of the music and movies of the 1980s- the best decade, according to him (I full-heartedly agree - the 80s rock!). It was Dad's spot.
My dad passed away suddenly and without warning 9 years ago. Some days it feels like a lifetime, some days feel like it happened yesterday. Today was one of those days where it felt like it happened yesterday. Today I had to go through all of his things we kept in the basement to decide what I wanted to take with me. My mom doesn't want to take all of his stuff to the new house for a couple of different reasons, which I fully understood. But a part of me wasn't ready to disturb things that had been left in place exactly as they were 9 years ago. My dad organized all of his music, movies, and TV shows in the ginormous entertainment center in our basement. In the last 9 years, my sister and I have taken a couple of albums and movies to appreciate here and there, but we always put it back in its rightful resting place. Today was the day when I had to pick through and decide what I wanted to keep from myself from his massive music and movie collection. I took a nice stroll through memory lane as I came across so many albums he would blare while doing work around the house or sing terribly off-key in the car as he would take me to school and gymnastics - you could always count on Theodore to blast some Guns 'N' Roses, Bon Jovi, Prince, Def Leppard, etc. in the pick-up line at school! As I picked through the movies, I vividly remembered the times I'd sit with him and share a huge bowl of his homemade popcorn while he educated me on the 80s (and some early 90s) classics: The Lost Boys (my first ever R-rated film), The Fugitive (the first film that had me "on the edge of my seat"), Stand by Me (the reason I have a fear of leeches), all of the good Tom Hanks movies (especially Forrest Gump and Apollo 13), and just about every John Hughes film ever made. As I gathered all that I wanted to keep, I couldn't help but be sad. I just really missed my Dad. I know he would want me and my sister to take all that we wanted from his collection and enjoy it, but I also know that part of him is shaking his head and asking me and my sister why we waited so long to go through his stuff. A part of me just felt wrong for taking pieces away from the place where my dad made such an impact. Almost as if without these things present, it's not the place where Dad lived. But the truth is... my dad hasn't lived here for 9 years. Maybe it's time to accept the fact that this isn't the same place it used to be and move on. This place, this home, is not what it used to be 9 years ago.
When I really think about it and analyze it, I think I am having an easier time than I expected to saying goodbye to this house. You see, I haven't spent more than 3 consecutive weeks in this house since I was a senior in high school, which was 5 (!) years ago. Right after high school, I packed up my stuff and moved to go to school at Michigan State. Even during summers, I was either working or going on vacations with friends. Right after I graduated from college, I moved from East Lansing to Chicago. I really haven't called Dearborn Heights "home" since high school. When I think about it, every time I come back here, I find myself being surprised at little things that have changed in the last 9 years. So many little things have changed over time that this house isn't anywhere near the same house it was a decade ago. This house isn't what I remember it to be. It'll always be the place I came from, but it's not home anymore. I want to remember the house from 15 years ago when my dad was still around blasting his music, my mom teasing him for his terrible singing, my sister and I playing with our American Girl dolls and asking our parents if we could stay up late to watch Friends and ER with them. I want to remember THAT house. THAT house was my home. That was the house that built me.
Family is what I live for. But, my family is moving on to the next chapter in their life. To me, it doesn't matter where they end up. Whether it's New Boston or Timbuktu, it doesn't matter to me. You know that saying "home is where the heart is"? It's true. My heart is with my family, wherever they may be. Wherever my family is, that is where my home is.
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