Farewell

I am told I am sentimental. Judging by the various facial expressions of those who say so, I am guessing they have different ideas about what it means to be sentimental, or at least differing opinions about the virtue of sentimentality. Tonight, I agree with the statement, virtuous or otherwise.

We moved out of our townhome at the beginning of this month. It took just over three hours to load everything we own into vehicles of various shapes and sizes, drive to the storage shed on 200 West, and empty the majority of our earthly possessions into a 10’ * 30’ shed. That afternoon, while Neesha was at her parents putting Caleb down for a nap, I had the chance to go back home to finish cleaning up a few items. I took a moment to walk through the empty rooms, and remember everything that had happened in that place.

Neesha and I painted every wall, some of them more than once, and carpeted and tiled every square foot of the floor. Yes, some of them more than once as well. We replaced every faucet and every light fixture, as well as the water heater, water softener, and dishwasher. We laid a new concrete pad, then tiled over the pad to hide the concrete, and then laid carpet to cover the tile. I learned how to hang doors and how not to hang doors. I learned how to hang crown molding and that I don’t know how to hang drywall. I learned that root beer spilled on two-day old carpet will still be around four years later, but that a half gallon of paint spilled a week after will not be if you use enough water and rags. We removed approximately 300 square feet of an eight-inch pour of concrete and seeded grass in its stead. And seeded it again. And again. Then laid sod. Then seeded again.

It was there I first became a father. It was there I became a father a second time. It was there I learned more of what it means to be a husband and that I still have a lot more to learn. It was there I watched a baby grow into a little boy while giving glimpses of the type of man he can become. It was there I watched a remarkable young wife became an even more amazing woman and mother.

Then I closed the door. What I’ve learned over the past month is that, though I’ve left 306 Peach Lane, the memories, the lessons, and the blessings I associate with home have outlasted the ownership of the building. I am still a husband. I am still a father. I have what I need.

mw