My grandparents old house......taken from the porch of my granny's new house
My grandparents old farmhouse.....my childhood. Every Christmas, every birthday, every Easter, every Thanksgiving. Every memory I hold dear was made in that house.....in that yard.....on the acres and acres of land surrounding the house. My granny built a new house once my papaw died. He would have never agreed to move (just over the hill).....too stubborn and set in his ways. I have only been back in the old house maybe three times since my papaw died. I loved the house.....but I couldn't stand the flood of memories and the constant reminder of the man that was missing. For the last two years, I have said that I wanted the old abandoned house to be torn down. I said I couldn't bear to watch it continue to deteriorate. I have to pass the house to get to my parents and I always fight between wanting to stare at the windows and porches and wanting to look away. This weekend.....the house will be torn down. And now all I can do is cry. It may not make sense to some people that I would mourn a house......but it was so much more than a house. It seemed to have a personality....a pulse....a smile. Now when I look at it, I feel as though I am seeing a ghost.....a slide show of my life. And the house just seems sad. Maybe those walls miss the sound of our laughter and all the love that my family shared there. I miss it......I miss the white haired, green-eyed, fair-skinned little girl riding through the yard on her papaw's shoulders.....I miss helping my papaw cook Sunday morning breakfast....I miss playing with my cousins from sun up until sun down and then fighting over old army sleeping bags when it was finally time for bed.
This is my attempt at a tribute to an old house who has given so many people so many amazing memories. For all of them.....I am grateful.
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