I sat cross legged on the rug of my childhood home. The house fell silent as the door clicked behind my family leaving ahead of me. I asked for some time to sit in this place alone for one last time.

This house was the foundation of every part of my life. This is the place I was brought home to as a new born baby. This is the place of the porch I stood on for every first day of school picture. These stairs are the steps my father had climbed to carried me to my bedroom after falling asleep on the couch. This is the house of the kitchen my mother made my favorite cookies and her award winning chocolate fudge in. It was home.

The bare walls once showed pop starts portraits and pictures of me with various friend groups over the years. Mom put those in a box for me when I left for university, and I haven’t touched them since then. It’s odd how the thought of those things bring the tears I have kept at bay to my eyes and down my cheeks. I sat very still and felt them roll down without wiping them away.

Today marks the day I will turn away from my home to the next chapter of my life. The feeling inside of me reminded me of splitting wood and broken tile. I sold this house for a decent price but it still wasn’t enough to bring my parents back to life. Their passing was unexpected. Just like the pick up truck going to fast around the blind corner on Cherry Hill on that rainy night.

I would stay here for the rest of my life. But my family, my job, my life is in a land far away. This is the last time I will stand in the house that built me. This hasn’t been my house for 9 years. Only the place I send holidays or the occasional birthday.

Soon a new family will move in, and my memory will fade. But for this last moment, I can almost see my dad mowing the lawn and my mom washing the dishes. I hear the familiar sounds almost as if they are real. I stand for my place on the food and move towards the door. I walk out of my childhood bedroom once more but never to return.

I descend the stairs and into the living room. It’s empty of the final boxes of things to be passed down to the family. I remember cold evenings by the fire place, playing cards. It was full of life and laughter every family get together.

I head toward the door, opening it to the bright sun light. This will always be my home, but good things come to an end. I step out and close the door behind me.