Sharing Secrets & Moving On

Would you like to know something I don't like to talk about?

Of course you do.

On September 5 of last year, my house burned to the ground.

That's right. Not just a little kitchen fire or a couple of rooms that were damaged, but full on no more upstairs, no more playroom or office, no more garage or laundry room. Nothing. Okay, there's a little of the downstairs left...take a look for yourself....

Front view

Back  view

Now, let me explain.

This is not the house Hubby B and I were living in. This is the house I was raised in from the time I was seven years old. My mom was the only one currently residing in the house (my Dad left two years ago, but that's a story for another day). Anyways, she was in this huge five bedroom, three bathroom house all alone. For the past couple of years my Grandfather had been begging me to return home to keep her company. Well, when we found out we were pregnant with Baby J I thought there was no time better to head back home. 

So, for times sake, Hubby B agreed to live with my mom until we really became settled in our new Southern city. Y'all this house was amazing. The best part of this plan, is that the upstairs was basically a suite of its own. So, we could have our space and she could have hers. My mom and I had already planned the nursery, and visions of raising Baby J in this house were dancing through my mind regularly. 

Our kitchen (note there is no second floor)

View from our front hallway into the living room. Upstairs floor fell in during fire.
The reason I'm bringing this up now is because after this weekend the house will no longer exist. It's being torn down as I type this post.

Cue the tears.

People always tell us, "at least no one was hurt, and the stuff that's gone was all just 'stuff'."

Well, excuse my language but these people don't know shit.

A sign we got my mom a very long time ago

Some of Hubby B and my wedding barware 

My childhood bedroom

What you don't realize is how much your house your home is more than just that. It is a family member, it is a best friend, it is your safe haven away from the world that can always make you feel better. It is, in reality, a huge part of who you are and who you have been.

This is where we celebrated Christmas for over ten years, where I was surprised by friends and family for my sweet 16, where I had my first sleep over at seven years old, where my brothers and I would ride couch cushions down the stairs, where I got ready for prom and threw a wild post-prom party, where we'd lay next to the pool in the summers, where I spent many sleepless nights chatting on the phone with my best friends and first love, where I was told my G-Pa passed away, where I got my first pet, where I learned what doing chores was all about, where my Dad and I would cook pancakes every Saturday morning, where all the neighborhood kids wanted to play because we had a trampoline, where Hubby B met my entire family for the first time, where he asked my Dad for my hand in marriage.

I could go on forever about what this house meant to me and the experiences it shared with my family, but I'll spare you.

Before September 5, I didn't known anyone personally or even through other people who had lost their house to a fire. An electrical short, that's all it was. Everything gone in a matter of an hour and a half as ten fire trucks attempted to tame the flames that were quickly taking away all of that 'stuff' that my family knew as our life.

I will say that life goes on. You find the strength and re-learn how to smile after watching your house be destroyed. But even though life goes on, you've still lost a family member. So, I'm taking my time to mourn. And then I've got to move on.