heart of stone

It’s really hard letting go of pieces of your life. My grandparents on my dads side are both gone as of February of this year, and I’ve had plenty of time to accept it. Even going through 60 years worth of their belongings didn’t seem too weird. But their house, the house I spent Christmas mornings and blew out tons of birthday candles in, was sold. Sold to someone I know, but sold. No longer theirs, ours, mine. I know the new owners will make memories of their own. They will wake up on Christmas morning and celebrate at the dining room table, just like we did. They will have birthday cakes with candles and blow them out, just like we did. They will sit around a fire in the backyard and drink beers, just like we did. And they will smile, love, cry, yell, and celebrate, just like we did. I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing that new people will inhabit the space where so many of my memories live. It’s fine. But it is very odd. A very odd feeling to know that where you once fell down in the living room will be a place where new people will watch tv or play games. And that where you once rolled dough and baked cookies will be a place where new recipes are cooking. It’s hard to describe but that’s the best I can do. My advice? Take mental pictures of the places you love, because one day they’ll belong to someone else. And that just feels odd.