It had taken a few extra months for the house to be finished: four to be exact.

We had lived in three different apartments, thinking each time we’d be able to move in, but no, something had delayed a delivery and there was that freaky Spring snow storm that covered the street in a sheet of ice.  The pallets of tile on the truck just a half block from the house, slid off the road and there sat the tile, in pieces on the ground.  That would have been our family room floor.

But finally the moving vans pulled into the driveway…huge vans. The movers had even packed the cars. Everything was clearly marked so the boxes landed in the appropriate rooms.  Any of you who have ever been packed by professional movers know they label everything.

That was 25 years ago.

Leroy and I were so excited.  This was our big attempt to build our home.  We’d found an architect we loved, put our ideas together with his and there it stood ready to become our place.  We really put thought and effort and love into this home.  It held up its end of the deal and hosted some of our happiest times.  We shared some beautiful, loving moments here and on the flip side, our Halloween parties raised the roof.  It was here where we talked over our future together and it was here we talked over what it meant when our future was altered when his cancer was discovered.

We were married in this house.  I’ll always remember the caterer saying how much she loved the place.  She called it a “happy house.”

Others have called it a living museum because it is filled with so many mementos from the stories we covered over two long time careers in journalism.

This was a comfort zone for the Big Guy after a long, hard trip to some ugly war zone.  The old couch that cradled him on those long naps to recovery is long gone, but these walls gave him peace and quiet and a place to call ‘home’ when he really needed it.

He needed it again, during the cancer journey and this house didn’t disappoint.  He felt safe here: safe enough to say this was the place he wanted to be when he took his last breath.

This was HOME.

25 years ago when those moving vans pulled up…..sounds like I’m still unpacking.

 

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