I've been back in Jersey for close to ten years now. It was not easy returning because, for one, I swore as I headed south for college years prior that there was NO WAY the road would ever lead back to Jersey. Secondly, the thought of returning was tough grappling with the reality that I would have daily encounters with little things connected to my past that made my heart sad. So much reminded me of my sister and what used to be. But after a year or so after I got settled in the triggers weren't as frequent.
About a year ago I was informed that the house I grew up in was going to be torn down to make space for an expansion at the church we attend. I've been able to put off the inevitable until a few days ago when I walked into our old living room with a crow bar and hammer to remove our kitchen cabinets. So much of the house is different, but there's so much that is the same. There's no laughter, no sizzling of pancakes in the kitchen as my mom yells for her girls for breakfast, no pounding of feet up and down the steps...it's silent. I know this isn't our home anymore it is merely a shell. But since I was eight years old the house has always represented my parents and my sisters. It sort of has always been known as the Lawler's house.
My family had a part in building this home with our own hands. As I removed little pieces of what was I was reminded that it was then hands of Paul, Brenda, Erin, Jess and Shana that assembled it twenty eight years ago. From the wood floors in the living room, the toilet paper holder in our old bathroom to the steps leading down to the basement; my family converted an old tomato farm to a home that stood strong and proud for nearly thirty years. That's pretty amazing.
My family had a part in building this home with our own hands. As I removed little pieces of what was I was reminded that it was then hands of Paul, Brenda, Erin, Jess and Shana that assembled it twenty eight years ago. From the wood floors in the living room, the toilet paper holder in our old bathroom to the steps leading down to the basement; my family converted an old tomato farm to a home that stood strong and proud for nearly thirty years. That's pretty amazing.
As the wrecking crew will be doing their work on Monday morning a little bit of my heart will ache. It seems like it is one more thing to let go of. It is one more thing I will miss. As I stood in the living room moving some stone from our fire place something caught my eye. I leaned over and picked up a glass tear drop, a gem. I have no idea where it came from, but I found myself smiling. This empty log home is only a frame, not the unshakeable structure of the faces, memories and love that resonated for years here. My precious gem reminded me of that....
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