Dear 296 Chestnut,
I’ve written a lot of love letters in my life. I’m a sentimental, romantic fool.
But this one is as much a love letter as a break-up story.
Life has happened yet again and I must leave you behind.
But I will truly hold a special place in my heart. We are leaving each other too soon.
There isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t hold a special moment or memory.
We found you as a half-joke, on a whim. While looking for our first home, we passed you and simply said “…and for the same price we could have had something like this awesome house…” and before we knew it, there was a showing, a lovely lady who wanted a nice family to take her beloved home of 20 years, papers signed, mortgage started, walls painted, late nights prepping and then, after what seemed like years, we crossed the threshold and you became a part of our world.
At our little round dining room table, dozens of friends and family joined us in laughter and wine and games. The number of Apples to Apples giggles and Trivial Pursuit 3am battles can’t be counted on one hand. I tried my first Mary Kay product on at that table and signed the consultant paperwork there four years later. We squished in additional tables and chairs for nearly-annual Thanksgiving dinners and kids of all ages paraded around that room at birthday parties and playdates. There is a bleach mark on the floor from an uncaffeinated klutz moment. I became a proud housewife when I gained a variety of FiestaWare dishes and bowls and have had them displayed on a built-in cabinet’s shelves.
Oh, 296, your paint colors. There is a light blue throughout you that we chose because Cumberland Fog reminded us of a favorite little town just 30 miles away. Upstairs in what used to be Zack’s nursery are Sand Trap and Teeny Bikini because Daddy got to choose them for his little boy-to-be. We kept the seven shades of retro green in the kitchen and bathrooms. I still remember pointing at the different colors on one wall, both of us laughing so hard we had tears streaming down our faces.
We had big plans for the kitchen. We loved our tiny kitchen and its’ black-and-white tiled floor. But it was pretty tiny. Our five-year-plan had a dream kitchen that we even mapped out on paper. But you know, we made do. I can’t tell you how amazing chefs shared their talents and recipes in our limited counterspace. Uncle Paul’s spicy concoction and Aunt Alice’s incredible cleaning of a glass lid after several glasses of wine. Scott’s holiday dinners and specialties filling the whole house up with great smells.
One day from the upstairs bathroom I screamed a scream I didn’t think I was capable of and it sent Scott bounding up the stairs two at a time thinking there was some wild creature eating his new wife. It was a positive pregnancy test — our first one — and it was the beginning of our lives with Zack. We won’t even go into the morning sickness both kids brought to that poor bathroom.
I covered you with photographs, I hope you didn’t mind. Extended family on the stairway wall. A kids’ corner in the living room. Wedding photos on the stone mantle. Nature photos above the dining room arch.
I loved your stained glass windows. When Zack was an infant, he would crawl to the spot of floor covered in the yellow and green sunlight streaming in and coo and coo with a smile.
I spent so many moments on your front porch. Swinging away a bad day or taking in a beautiful start to another day. Holding Zack after his surgery, with Addie kicking us through my belly. Addie’s fearlessness always on those front steps. The friends who held my hand in moments I couldn’t get though on my own. My mom’s old rocking chair keeping guard by the door. The summer dinners we just started eating outside. I loved your wisteria trellis. I never minded the trimming and upkeep because twice a year, it rained long purple petals on the front sidewalk. It’s smell and those blooms made me feel so blessed in this house.
For years, our yard was neglected. But this Spring, we spent hours of sweat and swearing pulling weeds and digging sod and landscaping and planting. A beautiful bounty of vegetables and herbs greet me from the back sidewalk now and I am so, so proud of the work we put into this and the teamwork and partnership it symbolizes.
Our kids’ first words were uttered and first steps were taken inside your walls.
Down Syndrome was accepted and researched here.
Promises to friends and secrets that will never leave here.
My hair gained gray here. Scott lost some of his along the way.
I became the woman I am today here and we grew into our family here.
Lessons learned and griefs felt and transformations accepted.
For every tear, a thousand giggles and smiles, on the back steps and in the sunroom and everywhere in between.
I’ll never forget you.
And I miss you already.
(PS – Do you have a favorite memory or scene from our home? Please share)