We’re in the process of packing up our house. Part of me hated this house. We moved here from a huge (for Hawaii) townhouse on base. It had just been built and we were the first people to live in it. It was close to the gym, groceries, and my favorite beach on the island. We had big closets and central AC. My best friend in Hawaii lived right next door.
It was perfect.
It was my decision to move. Part of it was just ants in my pants. I always feel the need to move, travel, or just change the scenery. The other part was more legit. I was 5 months pregnant and didn’t want to have to sit in traffic for an hour on the way to school everyday. When the baby had arrived I wanted to be close to her. Plus, it saved us a bit of money.
We stalked craigslist for a while before we found this place. It was the only place we could find with a backyard. And it was a house, rather than an apartment. It had three bedrooms so that we could have a guest room and a nursery. BUT, it was built in the 1940’s. It had no dishwasher or central AC. It had old pipes. It had ancient appliances. It had a shoddy screen door that the kitties could sneak out of. It had decaying hardwood floors that creaked with every step. You could never sneak up on anyone, not that there was much quiet to begin with. There was a woman next door with a crazy cackle that could wake the whole neighborhood. There was a kid who played the same exact song on the saxophone every day. There were narrow roads and no sidewalks. And worst of all, it was in town (no offense, townies).
But if I died and my spirit came back to haunt some place, maybe this place would be it. As I walk through the different rooms in this house, I think about all that has happened here. I think about how I used to stare out the window in the kitchen and wonder when Eva would arrive. I think about how many hours I spent under this roof, studying and writing about the law. I think about the night I packed some last minute things in the hospital bag and headed out the door. I think about the day I returned to that house, as a mother with a tiny baby. I think about the time my father met his first grandchild and about the first time Eva sat up. I think about all the emotions that were experienced in this place in the short amount of time that we lived here.
All the tears, the laughter, the energy.
I often wonder if we ever really leave a place- if there are pieces of us we leave behind wherever we go.
All I know is that as much as I hated this place, I’ll always remember it as a place that I loved.