Not Coming Back

Deep down I thought maybe my family would. 

Their home has sold, so if they do come back, it won't be to the same happy home.

It's not necessarily the house that I'm so attached to.  It's the memories that happened in that house.  It was a house that any neighborhood kids/teenagers were welcome to come to any time.  The food was practically free-flowing to anyone.  We often had extra people over for dinner.  Lance first kissed me out by the mailbox.  I fell in the ditch that used to be just south of the house.  My family spent hours and weeks and months working on the back yard.  My dad cut down the nasty tress that were back there, busting up his mouth.  Dad used to spend hours in the yard, he turned that back yard from weeds to nice grass, using grass seed, not sod.  He and my brothers built the deck, the deck hosted many parties.  Dad would practice playing the flugelhorn in the music room.  Eric and Jared would have band practice up in the bonus room.

It was house where a family I am proud to be a member of lived.

Maybe the hardest part is that not only is the house gone, but my loved ones who lived inside the house are also gone.  I can't go see them any time I want at their new house.  I can't see how their new house is becoming a home.  I can't make new memories with them.

Growing up is hard.  Growing apart is harder.