do-VS-work-for-a-year-or-two plans, take-that-trip-to-Europe plans, grow-old-together plans. All those things may or may not happen. Certainly, this is a planned occasion; one I am prepared for- but with our moving date three weeks away, I'm getting a serious nostalgia moment.
We're leaving a humble little mobile home that's out in the sticks on a dirt road. We're leaving something we paid little for and paid off soon; something that has weeds along the driveway, some serious mold and occasional bats in the enclosed back porch, and a roof that needs to be replaced soon. We're leaving something that prestigious real estate agents in Erie and Pittsburgh would barely look at; something we could never in our wildest dreams get in a magazine or on a postcard.
Okay, so why the nostalgia? Why the faint little lump-in-the-throat feeling when trying to picture pulling out of this driveway for the last time?
I'll tell you why. It's because this is where the dream started.
It is where we brought the pieces of furniture to, one by one, in those thrilling pre-marriage days. It is where Mike and I came home to on that April evening after our wedding as the setting sun filtered through the newly leafed trees behind the house. It is where we spent that first golden summer together as newlyweds, where we ate our first meal, paid our first electric bill, planted our first garden, had our first fight. It is where we excitedly watched the pregnancy test show positive, it is where I carried our firstborn underneath my heart as Mike trotted out the puke basin for the first 4 1/2 months and the strange foods I craved the next 4 1/2, it is the place we brought our son home to when he was a little, red-faced handful barely 12 hours old. It is where we paced the nursery at night, where we staggered around making coffee the next morning to get through the day. It is where our baby first smiled, first laughed, first cut a tooth... and then crawled, walked, and learned to say Mama and Daddy right along with stuffing food in our shoes and toys in the toilet. It is where we spent Friday nights curled up with a bowl of popcorn and a good movie. It is where we prepared meals for dinner guests, where we had friends and family for parties that lasted till midnight. It is where we shoveled mountains of snow in the winter and leaves in the fall, where we listened to the rain falling on the roof. It is where we laughed, cried, worked, played, ate, slept, kicked back. It is where we lived and loved.
That's why the nostalgia hits hard. This is where the Erb family had its beginning, and forever after, we will drive past this place with our children, point, and say 'Hey, that's where we started out.' If a family is not just a house, but a home, then this- this humble little abode- is where our home started.
So, we're moving. Sure, I'm happy and excited. Sure, I'll be glad to have all our possessions loaded and headed for a new neighborhood, new surroundings, and new faces. But for a little bit, people, just walk away. Leave me- give me a moment with myself and this little house that will soon be an empty shell. Let my say good-bye, but let me never forget... because this is where the dream, the plan, and the family began.