Wednesday, April 04, 2007

THIS. . .

. . . breaks my heart into ten million little pieces. My parents are selling my childhood home, the only home I've ever had. I understand their reasons, and at least they are staying in Spring City (that would surely KILL me). . .but still. . . its our HOME! meoow. sad kitten.

4 comments:

heatherlynn said...

i remember when my family sold our home. it was weird. left me feeling disjointed about my history. place says so much/contributes so much to our lives. i'd be sadly, too.

bardhi haliti said...

i am sorry. my dad is thinking of selling our house too and it feels so weird. it's interesting how a house can become such an important part of your life.

eped said...

gosh. don't know what to say. that's so the Bennion home.

I guess it will be cool to see what your folks make of the new place though. looks like they have some great plans, which is not as astonishing.

Papa Joe said...

My dear Zina,
I know how this feels. When I was your age and you were just a little squeak my parents sold the house in Orem that I was raised in and moved their home 1200 miles away to a place infested with ticks, chiggers and rednecks, a place our ancestors were driven out of at gun point 150 or so years ago. I cried for a week.
As I walk through this house that has been your childhood home I see the ghosts, good and bad, or shall I say the hard times and the light, fun times. I see you skipping around in Ana Paulsen's hand me down skirt that you wore from the time it was a full length skirt until it was to you knees. I see you sitting on the front porch in that skirt in January with no panties on wondering when your buns would freeze to the cement. I see you heading out the door to go to Bronxville and finally Florence never to really come back, only for visits. I look at this big fruitful apricot tree I planted the year you were born. I remember the first few nights you were in this world of air, not water, sleeping neatly on my chest while your mom had to stay in the hospital with birthing complications. We didn't know then that she was a hemophiliac.
I guess what I am saying is that it is hard for me too, kind of like any other growth and change is hard. It is only bricks and wood. The spirit that is our home is where ever we lodge and gather. You know that. Thanks for coming to us when you did and how you did. It has been a miracle.
Papa Joe