Remember how I told you that I had the chance to visit my childhood home? We stayed overnight in my hometown on our Road Trip! and got to see my longtime bestie. I was really on the fence about visiting the house – I thought it would be a bad idea.
It was a bad idea.
But my father had contacted the new owner (they stay in touch because my dad still owns a quarter section of land) and asked if we could stop by… and then my dad had shared such detailed instructions for how to get in touch with the new owner that I felt like it was A Done Deal and I couldn’t back out.
We drove out to the house. It’s in the country and the drive was exactly as I remember it. I’m sure it looked like generic prairie-mixed-with-badlands to my husband and daughter, but to me every curve and hillock still has meaning after all these years.
Climbing the driveway to the house – it’s a gravel drive that’s nearly a mile long – felt exactly the same. And aside from siding that was being repaired on the face of the house, the building looked just the same. The new owner had installed a fence that caused a little tear in the fabric of my memory, but it was easy to overlook. There was a new pile of construction materials near the barn, which was jolting – but I’d been warned to expect that, which helped a teeny bit.
Then we got to the other side of the house. The old house was dark grey siding with white trim. The new owner was in the process of replacing the siding with brick. The enormous juniper hedge outside the dining room was gone. So were the steps leading up to the front door. There was a new fence adjacent to the garage, containing an unfamiliar black dog.
I went up to the door, feeling sick to my stomach. I knocked and waited and knocked again. No answer, and with relief, I turned back to my family who were still in the car. But they were gesturing at me, and I turned again to face the house and a stranger was opening the door.
I told him who I was – he seemed slightly surprised, even though my dad had made it sound like he was expecting us – and he opened the door so we could come in.
My dad had mentioned that the new owner is a contractor, and that he is doing some remodeling to the house. But I was not prepared for the fact that he had gutted it. Instead of entering into a high-ceilinged hallway, with the sunken Special Occasions Living Room to the right and the stairs to the left and the powder room ahead and to the left and the door to the family room straight ahead, with the balcony that connected the bedrooms overhead, it was now one enormous room. The stairs that led to what was my parents’ room remained. He had ripped out the two-sided fireplace that connected the family and living rooms and ripped out the balcony. The entire east wall of the new great room was a massive brick fireplace, with a huge wall of firewood lined up beside it.
There was no longer a Special Occasions Living Room, nor a dining room. The kitchen had been expanded into what was once the dining room. A new staircase that must have led to what used to be my bedroom climbed up the far west wall.
Carla was delighted by three enormous dogs that were So Excited to have company, and I am glad she was distracted because I just stared and stared, trying to express approval and admiration to the new owner who was saying words whose meaning never reached my ears.
The worst thing, maybe, was that some of it was still there. The pantry. The porch. The windows overlooking the prairie, with the same view I grew up looking at, only it had been transported into someone else’s home. It was like being in a nightmare, where everyday things are stretched and misplaced in a way that feels unsettling and grotesque.
My dad had said that the new owner wanted to give us a tour, but he did not offer, and I am so glad. I could not get out of there fast enough. I hope I stayed there for enough time that he didn’t feel miffed, that I made the appropriate comments in the appropriate tones so that he didn’t feel affronted. And don’t get me wrong – the work he’d done was lovely. I am sure, when it’s finished, it will be spectacular and open and cozy and warm. But it wasn’t my house. It isn’t my house, of course. It hasn’t been my house for twenty years. And now someone else owns it, someone else lives there. Of course he would want to put his own stamp on it, reshape it into his ideal of a home, his ideal that has no resemblance at all to the beloved home of my childhood that my parents built and painted with their own hands.
I managed to drag Carla away from the dogs – of course she didn’t want to go – and beg off on the owner’s suggestion that we go out to the barn. Luckily, the weather was rotten, but there was no way I was going out there to see what stranger animals had made themselves at home in the cozy little stalls where my barn cats had kittens and I brushed my horse.
I made it into the car before I burst into tears, and Carla and my husband were shocked, I think. I hope that means I did a good job of faking it. I tried to find the right words for what I was feeling and failed. Finally, I told them that it was a mix of nostalgia and sadness that a time of my life is gone and I can’t get it back.
I wonder if being an adult has something to do with it, being so far removed now from when I lived in that house, from when I was a child. I know The World was far from perfect and stable back then – there was the AIDS epidemic and Operation Desert Storm and Columbine and so many many other things that were awful and terrifying and completely escaped my privileged child radar. But when I lived in that house, my parents were the ones in charge, they were the ones who knew what was going on, who decided what to share with me and my brother and how to couch it. Now, my husband and I are the ones who have to navigate current events that repel and horrify, we are the ones who have to plan for a future that seems uncertain in so many ways, we are the ones who have to protect and guide and prepare our child to make her way in a world that often feels fraught and perilous. My childhood wasn’t perfect – but it feels perfect, from this vantage point. Perfect and sheltered and safe. Maybe my subconscious thinks/hopes that, if my childhood home is preserved as it once was, the world or at least my perception of it could be preserved as well. I am lucky that my memories are a safe harbor, that I can retreat into the happiness of the past when the present gets too unsettling to bear. But that time, in reality, does not exist. And now, no longer does the place in which those happy years occurred.
I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have gone. And it’s so stupid to be sitting here crying, again, over a house and an era that exist shiny and whole in my memories, where they are both probably brighter and bigger and more beautiful than they ever were in reality. I don’t mean to say that I always have such a dark view of things. I do believe in beauty and goodness and hope. I don’t mean to be so melodramatic over such a small, insignificant change. It was just a house. I know it’s just a house. But seeing my past like that. Windblown and ruined and forever changed. It felt bigger.
Carla was quiet and thoughtful as we were driving back to town, past the shelter belt whose trees were double or even triple the size they’d been twelve years ago, through the wind that whipped around us more violently than it ever used to, alongside the river that was more full and more turbulent than the river of my childhood. She said, “Mommy, I think you are past-sick. Like homesick, but for the past.” And I think she is exactly right.
Your sweet girl is so astute. <3 I was nodding along as I read this post, because the home I grew up in (from 1966, when I was 2, until I moved out in 1985) was built by my dad. I loved it so much, and when he died and my mom put the house up for sale, I was so sad that I couldn't afford to buy it myself.
Instead, the person who bought it (someone who went to school with me, actually, although we weren't close friends or anything) tore the entire damn house down. Gone. And built a ridiculous McMansion that towered over all the other sweet brick ranches on the street. It's been 22 years and it still makes me furious and sad.
You described this experience so well, and I wish I could give you a big hug. If it helps to hear, although I did see the new monstrosity (just from driving past) and it slayed me, in time my memories of the house were just of what I remember. The new house did not replace the old in my mind. I hope the same is eventually true for you as well. <3
That does help, Wendy. I hope with time the new house stuff fades.
Oh, I’m so sorry! How awful. I think in time your mind will erase the changes and only remember it how it was, but I can totally see how upsetting that would be. The fact that your family was shocked when you started crying in the car means that you handled it perfectly while you were there, for whatever comfort that gives you.
Carla is wise beyond her years to come up with past-sick: I have been that, many times.
I hope you’re right – I really didn’t want the new owner to feel awkward or bad!
I, too, feel a DEEP, deep longing for my childhood home. In fact, as sorry as I am to read about how hard this way for you, it comforts me, in a way, to know that I am not alone in feeling so nostalgic for my childhood home and that period in my life. I don’t know of anyone else in real life, at least who I have talked with, who feels the way I do. I actually dream about my childhood home regularly- at least once or twice a month, probably more. For years and years this has happened. It’s not that I’m exactly dreaming “about” the house, but it’s just that whatever is happening in my dream (unrelated to the house) just takes place in that house. It’s like my brain never got the memo that I haven’t lived in that house since I left for college at 17. But I LOVED our house. I loved living there, I loved that entire stage of my life….like you, it feels perfect, looking back. I also feel sad, as you say, that “that time in my life is gone, and I can’t get it back”. I’m happy now, too! I love my current life. But looking back on those years, it was a different happiness, a simpler happiness. I miss it, too, so much! I feel you and I’m sorry. I drive by our old house occasionally- my parents sold it when I was graduating college and moved about 10 minutes away. It looks similar, but it hasn’t been cared for in the way my dad did, and the beautiful yard and trees are either overgrown or long gone now. It’s not the same. I haven’t been back inside, but I did google once to find some real estate photos! I couldn’t find full interior pics though, just some of the back yard.
I dream about my childhood house too! And yes – a simpler time.
It’s difficult when our precious memories are just that with no reality to back them up. And when faced with them, we can no longer imagine that that stage of our lives is still present. I think it’s good that you went. You always would have wondered and now you know.
Oh gosh, I’m so sorry this was your experience. One thing that helps me a little when I feel “past-sick” is to try to feel gratitude for the memories I have and that I can revisit them whenever I want. That contractor can’t open-plan your brain! Anyway, I’m sorry you are grappling with this loss. Hugs.
Oh Suzanne, I’m so sorry! But I agree with Margaret; you would have always wondered and you do have all those precious memories – all the changes the new owner is making cannot change that. And Carla is such a sweet and empathetic child who is wise beyond her years. Sending you a big hug.
I am drafting a blog post for tomorrow (a repost actually) about a very similar topic.
Everything you said hits home. My experience is different (as I’ll explain), but I feel homesick for the past to the point it can be a physical ache.
This quote summarizes my feelings exactly!:
“My childhood wasn’t perfect – but it feels perfect, from this vantage point. Perfect and sheltered and safe. Maybe my subconscious thinks/hopes that, if my childhood home is preserved as it once was, the world or at least my perception of it could be preserved as well.”
Yes, yes, yes. And it feels like if I just try hard enough, I can will myself back into that reality. Of being sheltered and safe and…innocent. I was so unaware of the inequality and pain and suffering in the world as a child and I now have to navigate the balance of protecting and informing my kids and it’s exhausting and sad and I just want to be a little kid again myself. Because life was, for the most part, so idyllic.
Summer is the hardest time for these feelings because I loved summer vacations at our cottage. And now as my parents are aging, I’m just feeling heavy hearted as I balance this “hanging on while letting go.”
I’m so sorry it was such a tough experience but I 100% relate and also 100% understand while it’s all so emotionally challenging – both the tangible changes to your childhood home/memories but also another reminder that a past setting/“life” is altered forever.
Hugs, my friend. And also, you’re raising such an astute daughter!!
I’m sorry, Suzanne. Carla’s comment was very wise.
Sending more sympathy – I haven’t been inside any of my prior homes (I’m including both grandparents’ homes in this), but have driven by them. It also made me sad and nostalgic and I can’t imagine if I went in and a place was gutted. Terrible. But it’s a good lesson for Carla, too, that things do change and we learn, eventually, to make our peace with them. And cherish the memories. She’s so sweet and perceptive. Big hug.
Ohhhh… 🙁 I felt so bad for you the entire time I read this post….and felt so proud of and in awe of Carla! Virtual hugs to you both.
Carla is a sweet little gem of a child. I’m so sorry this was your experience but I understand how it was unsettling and upsetting.
I just watched a video clip that was part of the batch I made digital and there we are walking thru our old house when Curly was 6 mos old. I started sobbing while I watched it. The house was smaller, but why did we leave there? So many memories. Simpler times.
Again, sorry it played out that way.
Past sick….she is so smart! My mom had to sell my childhood home a few years ago. I went home to help her finish packing and was so shocked by how emotional I was. Your post really hit me (in a good way) as I’ve been feeling nostalgic for a lot of periods in life lately. Thank you for articulating it so well.
Carla is so sweet and kind. Her comment is so perfect. I have such a different experience from childhood… my parents provided a safe, wonderful home for me but I disliked the area I grew up so intensely and was just so so lonely and desperate for friends so I can’t separate those feelings is isolation and loneliness from my childhood home. My parents sold their house 2 years ago and I hadn’t been back there in probably 10+ years? And I felt nothing when they sold it… but my parents weren’t all that sad when they sold it either so I think we are just not sentimental people? I have more of an attachment to their lake home so I think I will have a harder time when they no longer live there, but hopefully that is far far off! Although they built the home in 2012, I think? So I don’t have childhood memories in their lake home.
I’m envious of those who have these strong attachments to their homes/home towns, though. What a gift your parents gave you. And I don’t want to discount what my parents provided for me. They were and are amazing parents and did what they could. I just hope that my boys have a different experience and I feel confident they will since they will go to diverse schools with more extracurriculars. So I hope they find great friends at a young age. My husband grew up in this area and went to a huge high school so he has a great group of HS friends that we still get together with. They are wonderful people and I’m so envious that he had access to such great people in his formative years.
Your posts about your home have made me think about writing about my experience growing up, but my mom reads my blog and I think she would be very heart broken to read my reflections on my youth… So it’s probably not something to write about for me, but it’s been interesting to think about how different I feel from how you feel!
Oh god, I am so sorry, Suzanne. That sounds dreadful. xoxoxo
I’m really sorry to hear that you had a rough experience visiting your childhood home! It sounds really unpleasant and it must have been so hard to see a place that means so much to you feel like a stranger. Carla had such a great response. <3
Carla found the right words! Past-sick. Oh, I am sure so many of us can relate and I agree, you shouldn’t have gone, but I am sure a part of you was just longing to be in this place again (not knowing what would await you). I am glad your memories are safe – nobody can take those from you. But nostalgia is weird, man!