A house is nothing more than a bunch of wood and concrete and other stuff thrown together in some semblance of order to form a shelter. A home, though, is the place where life happens. One day in the not too distant future, Diane and I will begin the process of packing up our home. Packing the "things," while no small feat, is meaningless when compared to the packing up the memories of the last 30 years.
In some ways, it still seems like just yesterday that I cleared areas of the heavily wooded lot for the house and septic system. We broke ground in early 1994 and I was sent to Japan to work for two weeks (on very short notice) just days after the basement was poured. Diane powered on in my absence; raising two active little boys and keeping things moving with the builder.
Diane, the boys and I invested much blood, sweat and tears as the house grew from that hole in the ground and somehow transformed into the home where our family grew up. The memories started even before we moved in in September of that year.
The excavator put the boys on his lap as he drove his big machinery around the lot; digging and moving dirt.
Those walls saw two little boys spending many hours pounding nails through various walls' bottom plate into the subfloor as Diane and I worked on other construction projects. I'm sure the hundreds of nails holding some of the walls to the subfloor would keep the wall standing in the fiercest tornado.
Those walls saw two little homeschooled boys grow into godly young men.
Those walls saw an addition built to move Diane's parents in when they needed extra care, and they saw us grieve as her Dad passed away in their home within our home. They saw Diane sacrifice much as she cared for her Mom for 20 years until she simply couldn't provide the care she needed anymore, all while still caring for her boys and me.
Those walls saw Diane fiercely battle cancer; refusing to give in even a little as she pressed on with all of the responsibilities of being a wife, mom and educator.
Those walls saw the boys head off to college and begin families of their own.
Those walls saw joy and sorrow, arguments and reconciliation, victories and loss.
Soon, those walls will be seeing memories being made by a new family, but all they have seen over the last 30 years will somehow still be there - still a part of the fabric of that house that will no longer be our home.
