The house that built me.

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 walk around I swear I’ll leave.

Won’t take nothing but a memory.
From the house that built me.

 

 

Today, I went to Cille's house. It's the first time I've been there since before Asher was born. Since before Cille went home to heaven. Since before everything changed and I missed it. Before family members said goodbye and parted ways. Before her belongings were divided and found new homes.
 
It's the first time I've been there with empty walls and rooms. Cille's stuff was always piled on every surface. Stuff on top of stuff. All labeled clearly, mind you. 
 
Her home seemed so familiar yet foreign today... To see it empty and ready to be sold. Yet not empty.

There are so many memories there. So many holidays. Hugs, kisses, dollar times, forts, meals, desserts, fudge and fudgecicles, pictures, hours at the table, naps on the couch, days on the porch, wagons, barns, cousins. Those are all still there. In that house that built me. That house I love. That I think of when I think of growing up and going home.
 

Today, I went back. With my family. With my child. I know Asher met Cille in a magical, spiritual, amazing way. But I wanted him to meet her house, too.

I wanted him to meet the kitchen sink we all bathed in. Sit in her bedroom at her huge mirror we all looked at ourselves in over the years. Enjoy her front porch. Play in her yard on her hill.

 And mostly, I wanted him there with me when I found closure. I wanted him there for me and Mom and Joni. I wanted him to see the house that built us.
 
I love you, Cille.