The View From Here – The House That Built Me
Eve posted the question on the Fox Facebook page earlier today “Have you ever gone back to your old home or neighbourhood just to take in the nostalgia and childhood memories?” and I started nodding my head as I read it.
Absolutely I have.
There’s the childhood house in Streetsville where we grew up. My brother took me on a drive through the “old neighbourhood” years ago when we were down for a visit. So interesting to see how much it’s changed, but how much it still looks the same. Memories of childhood. Simple days. Neighbourhood friends.
Then there’s the “house that built me”. There’s a song I love by Miranda Lambert “The House That Built Me”. Those lyrics became even more real to me a few years ago when I was invited to go back to the home I spent my teenage years.
I met a women through a grief support group on Facebook. Through sharing conversations back and forth, she realized that she had been living in my old house. She knew my story and the background and invited me to come out anytime.
I have to say, I was hesitant at first, but eventually, I got up the nerve and asked if we could make it happen. So many people know my story. My mom, brother and sister died in a car accident in July of 1990. That was the last house we lived in together as a family. Full of memories. Last memories.
The woman I connected to online had lost her son – also tragically, similar circumstances. We had a bond. A similar story that brought us together.
I never expected to have the chance to go back. I had driven by so many times over the years. Noticing the changes. Always holding onto the memories. Never ever expecting I would have a chance to see it inside, but always wondering “what if I could?”
So when I finally got up the nerve, I wasn’t sure how it would feel or how I would react.
As soon as I pulled in the driveway, it was so emotional. I got out of the car and cried. She gave me a big hug and the memories were suddenly overwhelming, along with the incredible sadness.
I always wondered what it would feel like to go back to that house. To go inside again. A lot had changed. Some walls were opened up. Door ways widened. Rooms were different. But that feeling of “my house” was still there. It’s almost like I could FEEL my family again. It was odd to suddenly be transported back in time. To remember how we had it set up. Where the Christmas tree was. The stairs my dad built that were still there. No more phone on the wall, but the clothesline still hangs out back. I could picture my mom hanging out the clothes as I stood there.
So strange to walk up the stairs and see my old bedroom. The one I shared with my sister.
I remember my teenage self in that house. I remembered life in that house. I remember what it felt like to be that family of six.
It was a huge step in a life long healing process. It was such a gift to be able to do that. To walk through the yard. Look at the trees that were there when we lived there. The ones we climbed, and the one I hit when learning how to drive. (smile)
It’s like looking back on your life through a crystal ball, and only you know the future.
That day was healing in so many ways and I am forever grateful that I had the chance to go back to the house that built me. It was an experience I will never EVER forget. I even got a history lesson in who originally owned the house It was some sort of summer vacation home for a while. Something about cows living in the basement?
You never know what you’ll find. I never imagined I would connect with someone on FB who would become such a big part of my life story.
Do you have a similar story? Have you ever gone back to a childhood home? Would you, if given the chance?
As always – feel free to reach out anytime
“I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here it’s like I’m someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave.
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me.”
