Home Again~ A Short Story

 Death can turn your life upside down. It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to my parents, and then it was time to let go of my childhood home. I was driving to meet a couple who might want to buy it.

 On the car ride, my mind was spilling over with childhood memories of past holidays: the chaos of a house full of cousins, people laughing, sharing stories, and enjoying their time together. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. How could I say goodbye to it all? My entire childhood—my past?

 When I arrived, I hurried up the sidewalk to the house, twisted the key in the lock, and flung the door open. I was home.

 I stood gazing at the staircase my brother and I used to race down every Christmas morning. I stared into the living room. In the corner of that room, there were indentions on the carpet where my dad’s recliner sat for as long as I could remember. I could still see him leaning back with a book on his chest and his glasses pulled down on his nose, snoring.

 I went into the kitchen where Mom spent many Sunday afternoons baking cookies. I don’t think I could put a number on the peanut butter sandwiches, glasses of Kool-Aid, and warm fresh cookies my friends and I enjoyed in that kitchen. Oh, and the aroma of fresh rolls and a turkey baking on Thanksgiving that wafted out of that kitchen still made my stomach growl.

 I walked over to the sink and gazed out the window at the backyard. Outback sat an old rusty swing set. My brother and I tried to see who could swing the highest. Of course, it wasn’t so run down back then. It was green with white stripes at one time. I smiled as I thought back to the time I fell off the slide and bloodied my knees. My dad rushed out to me, wiped away my tears, took me inside, and put bandages on my wounds.

 As I stood there reminiscing, a quote came to mind from one of my favorite authors, Thomas Wolfe. He said, “You can’t go home again.” I always thought that quote was correct, but the more I thought about it, I had to disagree. While another family will own this home, and I’ll never be able to walk through those doors again, this house is only a structure. I’ll always be able to return home as long as I have my memories. Time spent with my family is what made that house a home.

 I can close my eyes and go home to my memories anytime.