Persevering Paige

Hello, 

Most of you know me, some of you may not. I am Ann’s oldest grandchild, Paige. I thought about beginning with a funny story. There are so many. Upon reflection, though, many of the stories I would tell are not appropriate for this setting. So, I digress.

My Grammy was a firecracker, an energizer bunny with a Boston accent.  She was a dedicated woman, in fact, her dedication was something to marvel at. She was dedicated fully to her faith, her family, and…cigarettes. Her dedication to her faith is inspirational, but really, so is her dedication to smoking if you really think about it. 

My Grammy loved, with every ounce of her being. She loved everyone, no matter how far they had strayed or if they reciprocated her love. The best example I can think of is one of Grammy’s last endeavors for her grandchildren. She loved to knit. She made all 8 of her grandchildren a blanket for their first child, with a book, and a note, so that even if she didn’t make it to physically see their arrival, her great-grandchildren would have a piece of her. She did this for all of us, no matter how close we were to her. 

She even loved those who were no longer here, making sure they were never forgotten and always a part of our Earthly family. She always had flowers in the trunk of her car to clean up my mother’s and grandfather’s graves.

She was the matriarch. Our healer. The one who always had the answers. She was quite truthfully the first person in my life to fully embody Jesus’s love for me on Earth. She loved unconditionally and hard. 

No matter how amazing she was, she would never take credit for it. She would often say, “Oh, Paige, it’s just you. You are so strong. I am just here to help you.” Or, “It’s the foundation your parents gave you. I’m just holding up my promise to them.” Or, “It’s our good Lord. He is faithful.” It was never her, in her eyes. Even though it was her. So many times. 

My grandmother was the first person I would call if I was bored, scared, sad, confused, lonely, heartbroken, happy, or a multitude of things combined. I know my family would agree with me. 

My grandmother held my hand when I was 7 years old reading a prayer at my father’s funeral in this same church. She was the person I looked out to while reading my mother’s words of remembrance at this same podium when I was freshly fourteen. And, after I lost my best friend at 18, she was the person constantly reminding me that we will always be best friends and our friendship will last forever. 

She was the pillar of strength for our family after losing Uncle Kevin so tragically. 

She was my biggest cheerleader, always making sure my car was full of gas, my house full of food, my things, neat and organized, that I knew about any rainstorms or bad weather coming in. I think those are some of the ways we can honor her.

Mrs. Flemming, my best friend’s mom, wrote to me, “Grammy was small in stature but stands as a giant among my heroes. She was irreplaceable and unrepeatable.”

She was the one who would have helped me through motherhood, held me as I cry from joy that I have a child, cooked and cleaned while my eyes were weary, and answered any questions I have about why my baby is doing this or that.

I am aware that had I not lost my mom at such a young age, my Grammy and I’s relationship would have looked different. We would have been close but not nearly as close as we were. I was a placeholder for my mom in a lot of ways, just like she was. We bonded over that. 

Valiant is an adjective that means, “very brave or determined, especially when things seem hard or hopeless.” 

William Shakespeare once wrote, “Cowards die many times before their deaths, the valiant never tastes of death but once.”

Grammy struggled most of her life and probably felt dead in a lot of ways after the death of her husband and daughter in the same year. She didn’t die until her last breath, she lived a life that was full and meaningful. She taught us how to make a beautiful life amidst the tears. 

Grammy was not ready to die. She didn’t want to. She had another ten years in her. If it hadn’t been for the word I will not say, she would have lived into her nineties and met my first child. 

The last two things that she kept emphasizing over and over during the last few days she could speak, were to keep my chin up and that she was proud of me. There are a few points of symbolism that I want to point out quickly before I go. The first is that today is the first official day of fall. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” I encourage our family to lean into this season while the Earth joins us in letting go and starting anew, preparing for the cold ahead. The second is that Grammy loved butterflies. Something about monarch butterflies came across my social media which prompted further research. Monarch butterflies began their southward migration in late August, but their peak migration across the US takes place in mid-September, right around the time of Grammy’s passing.

To my family, I would say that Grammy gave us all she had. Though she had even more to offer, she has handed us the wand full of her magic. Let us run, skip. Like monarch butterflies in the wind. Let us fly. 

Many of you have heard I FINALLY WROTE the book I’ve been talking about since high school. Many of you also have questions, so I hope this post helps to answer some of them. I am going to post some of the questions I have received and answer them as best as I can.

Are you traditionally publishing or self-publishing?

I am self-publishing my book. There’s many reasons for that. The main one is that I want to maintain creative control over my book. This book is so personal, so I don’t want anyone telling me what they’re going to do with it. Everything that happens has to be okay’d by me. 🙂

What genre will your book be?

My book is a memoir, so nonfiction. It will have some fictional elements to it, so I hope it’s something everyone will enjoy!

What is the title?

The title will be announced on August 30, 2024, so check back then!! As of right now, only the closest people to me know it. It feels like a tiny secret that I am bursting at the seams to tell you!!!

When will your book be released?

Later this year. The exact date to come—in October most likely!

Will it be hardcover, paperback, kindle, or audiobook?

As of right now, it will be released only as a kindle and paperback version. If the book goes viral, we could see a hardback version. Currently, that’s not in the plans. I will work to make an audiobook version, but it will be quite some time after the initial book release.

The world has changed so much in the 12 years since my Mom was here. From technology, to parenting, to the newest trends. Sometimes I think about what she would be like in today’s world. Would she have an iPhone? Would her world-views have changed?

When I reflect on all of this, it brings me to greater insight. Though I’m not yet a parent, I am a big sister and a teacher. Most of what I learned about parenting came from my own parents.

I don’t know if it is wrong to feel like this, but I am forever shaped by the love of my parents. Those that read what I write know how much I appreciate my Mom in particular. One thing I am grateful for is my Mom’s balance of love. She knew when to be gentle and she knew when tough love was the answer. It wasn’t one way all the time or the other, it was both, when necessary. I admire that a lot about her. She wasn’t afraid to speak softly when we were hurting and to help us understand where we were, just as she wasn’t afraid to tell us when we were being ridiculous and remind us that we don’t get to make the rules as children. The more I think about how much the world has changed and interaction expectations have altered, I am eternally grateful for my Mom’s constant balance. I think I would appreciate her less if she had been too gentle or too tough, or given me the world-view that I could never be wrong. She guided all of us quite strongly. I am mostly thankful that because of her ability to navigate parenthood with such balance of softness and strength, she gave me the gift of being able to search inside of myself to ask questions when I need to. Questions such as: Am I being too hard of heart? Was I right? Should I have done something differently? The same thing goes for statements that I make in my heart, like, “That was wrong and I will not stand for that.” “I know my worth and I know what is right and wrong.”

Basically, I had the best Mom ever, but I am thankful that she was not afraid to give her children tough love. Sometimes, I think people need it. If she was still here, she would still be tough and gentle. If there was a perfect combination of it all, it would be her.

Throughout life, we are always learning about the world and about ourselves. I have found that I am extremely self-aware. What a great thing it is in many ways, but I often feel like I know way too much about myself and then I can spend hours analyzing myself in ways I wish I didn’t. As self-aware as I am, or so I thought, it’s always surprising to find out new things…because I thought I already knew everything about myself.

In all of my grief, I made a commitment to my healing. I’m not sure when this commitment was made but I definitely made it. I have always handled everything that came my way, because I knew if I didn’t it would prevent me from being all that I can be. I have this distinct memory of thinking about my future in high school. I remember sitting in my house at the time and thinking that things didn’t look good for me. With no biological parents at such a young age, I came to the realization that most things were going to be more difficult for me to achieve. At 25, I haven’t let it stop me, but I was right. I remember thinking about the course of my life and the paths I could go down. It would’ve been so easy to choose the path that the statistics showed as most common for kids like me. I didn’t want that though. I wanted to be the rare one: the one that went through insurmountable trials and overcame them on the other side with hope and a future. I chose that, and I’m proud of myself everyday for my commitment to that very choice and my commitment to my healing.

I think we often think of healing as linear. Start to finish. It’s not linear. At all. I have good and bad days but I’m always healing. It’s a lifelong process and I don’t have commitment issues. When a simple conversation over the summer sent waves of grief my way, I think that’s when I truly understood this. I also found out that losing my parents so young created an identity crisis within me that I had no idea I needed to overcome. I don’t wish to go into a whole lot of detail, but basically, I was told that I never attended my childhood church. I was told that there is no record of me ever attending this church. It sent me into a wave of grief that I had not prepared for. Then I started reflecting.

This is what I came up with: When you lose your parents as a child, you lose your foundation. You lose the people that you are literally depending on for survival. You lose a sense of who you are, even if you don’t mean to. It changes you. I am who I am because of this and I love all of who I am. Don’t get it twisted. It is and always will be deeply profound.

The word “childlike dependency” came up in my head a lot, because I feel like that’s what we should have with Christ. We should depend on Him like we depend on our parents. I may have lost my foundation to my hometown, to my childhood, and even my church, apparently. But I will never be able to lose my foundation in being a beloved daughter of Christ. God knows I went to that church. God knows everything I’ve been through and He has loved me all the way and never left me at any point. I may have lost my foundation to my childhood when I lost my parents, but I will never be able to lose me because I am not rooted in this world. I am rooted in Christ. My roots are not here and they never were.

So, take that identity crisis.

I bought this mug and blanket before I moved into college at 18…in Raleigh, NC…studying to be a counselor. I didn’t know it then, but none of that was going to work out. As I use them still today, it’s a reminder to myself that things still worked out, in a different way. A way that is so much better suited for my heart. I didn’t really want to be a counselor… I wanted to help people, and I had been through a lot, which is why I thought counseling was the path for me. Deep down, I really wanted to study English and write. I will be doing all of that, all while helping people. It wasn’t easy, but God was with me every step of the way. I’m thankful for it all because without any of it; I wouldn’t be here. Counting down the days until I’m not snuggled up with my coffee at 11:00 AM. Though I will miss it…💚

My mom had a painting of the Jefferson Memorial over her beloved couch originally. The colors matched the couch perfectly, and the painting was during cherry blossom season so the pink accentuated the pink on her couch. When the house was sold, we all picked things, and I couldn’t take the larger of the 2 couches at the time, so I opted for the loveseat. My brother wanted her picture that hung above it. I wanted to find a painting or picture that I felt went with the couch to hang above it once the couch was in my own place. I looked everywhere until I found this. It doesn’t have any pink, but the ivory color on the building matches the couch. It was originally $59.99 and I didn’t want to pay that. I went back 2 weeks later and it was on sale for $15.99. I got it and now it’s like my touch mixed with my mom’s hanging in our home. 💗

My last few weeks of summer vacation are winding down and soon I will be a first year teacher in the thick of it. I’m embracing my time off but also trying to use it wisely. A week ago I moved 2 hours and 45 minutes away so I’ve had a lot of things to put away and a new place to learn, somewhat. Yesterday afternoon I went to daily mass at St. Andrew’s Catholic Church in my new home, which happens to be a beautiful cathedral. I’ve never been inside and thought there’s no better opportunity. There are 3 Catholic churches nearby and I’ve been wanting to try them all out to see which one feels most like “home”.

I arrived at the church and parked in hopefully, a space that was alright to park in…but fear not, my car was still there afterwards. I walked up to the doors of what I think was the front of the beautiful building, but very well could have been the side or the back. There were three large wooden doors. I went to the far right door first, only to find that it was locked. The middle door too, locked. And the left side door, locked as well. Looking confused and also looking to see if anyone was watching, I walked around and went to the sliding glass door on the other side. This door said automatic and was not opening, because it was turned off and locked. Standing there, I was looking inside at the scaffolding and wondering if I would actually make it to mass or if this would be a trip simply to admire the cathedral from outside, I noticed two older ladies get out of a car in the street. They were clearly also going to go to mass, so I waited, hoping they would tell me where to go. They saw me and said, “Hi are you here for mass?” I said, “Yes, but the doors are all locked.” They looked at me and one of the women responded, “Mass is in the social hall since they are working on the inside and it’s full of scaffolding. The social hall is this building right here”, pointing next door. I thanked them and followed them along. When we got inside, the same lady told me, “There’s also adoration on Thursday’s right after mass.”

This was a much more meaningful experience, being Paige, than it probably should have been. It got me thinking….how many times does that happen to us in life? We think our requests in prayer or in life are locked out from us or from God’s willingness to say yes. We think we will never have _____, whatever our hearts may need. Yet, how many times do we not run off frustrated after the first door is locked, or the second, or the third? Or the fourth? It took four doors for me to find the way to mass, but I got there. I may not have gotten to attend mass inside of a beautiful cathedral, but I was there. God’s way may look different than the way we want things to be, but we can be open to that and experience the fullness of life. It wasn’t locked from me, I just needed to look a different way.

As a Catholic, I believe in the communion of saints and I often wish more people did too. I so strongly believe that our loved ones who have gone before us are not gone forever, but instead play an active role in our lives. We cannot see them, but they want you to feel their presence and are by your side everyday. What is unseen is more permanent than what is. I’m constantly shown through moments just how close they always really are. I wanted to share this story…

This past weekend I was in Massachusetts for my cousin’s wedding. I left the wedding probably about an hour and a half before it was over because Braden and I had to get up early and drive 10 hours back to Virginia the next day. I had to go back to the bridal suite after leaving the wedding, which was a few buildings over, to get my things. I grabbed the key from my Aunt Nicky to go back over there. I got my purse and clothes, used the restroom, and then Braden took me back over to the reception to drop the key back off. When I walked in the door they were playing Dancing Queen and my Aunt Nicky was standing in the middle of the dance floor holding a picture of my Mom. I just lost it. We stood there dancing for another minute and crying together to the lyrics, “you are a dancing queen, young and sweet, only 17.” Jackie, the bride, in tears said, “You came back right for this song.” It was just a moment I really needed and I can’t say any more than that. Whenever Dancing Queen would come on the radio, my Mom would turn it up, and say exactly every time, “I love this song!” 💗 It just amazed me that I came back right at the exact moment for that song.

So that’s my little story for the day. As a young woman I am finding that I need my Mom more than ever as I navigate this crazy life, and she never fails to show me she is right there with me, every step of the way. 💕

I remember the day you were born. Mom was holding you in the hospital bed when I arrived with Danielle, and a nurse came in telling Mom that she needed to take you out for more bloodwork. Mom questioned her asking,”Really, more?” Dad then made a joke about where he slept in the hospital since Mom got the cozy hospital bed. He circled one area of the room floor and then said, “This is my bed!” Later, he took Danielle and I down to the gift-shop to get us a gift. We got two stuffed-animal cats which happen to be both of our favorite stuffed animals to this day, partially because Dad got them for us, and also because it reminds us of the day we got our brother.

I have often tried to describe you to people and I fail every time. You are seriously the most one-of-a-kind person I’ve ever met, and I end up telling people, “You just have to meet him.” Once they meet my 6’2”, red-headed, slightly clueless little brother, they get it. I know that you were meant to be mine…my only brother, and the best friend.

When I think over the course of our life, I think about how it hasn’t been easy. My heart breaks when I think about you losing Dad when you were only two and Mom when you were eight. The truth is, I’ve never actually cared about how it affected me, but always about how it affected you and Danielle. It makes me so sad that you don’t remember Dad and that you didn’t get to have Mom in your life for nearly as long as you deserved. Even though I was only 7 and 14, I know that I was meant to remember the memories of our younger days so that I could share them with you.

You have been through so much for an 18-year-old. Most people, much older than you, wouldn’t even know what to do with all of the hurt and empty spaces that we have had to live with. As the oldest and your oldest sister, I have tried to fill some of those gaps for you. I know that it could never be enough, or close to what you deserve, but I hope it has been something meaningful. Words could never express how much you mean to me and how much you always will. You have been one of the only people that has always been there in my life, and as you’ve gotten older and we have become close; I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This next phase of your life will be incredibly different from anything you’ve experienced yet. It will be harder in some ways, and easier in others. It is important for me to emphasize how much you don’t know, and to be humble and honest about it, because every 18-year-old thinks that they know the world. I did. Sometimes I still think back to when I was 18 and shake my head at some of the ridiculous things I believed or sought after. Once you understand that you don’t know much, not in a self-deprecating way, but in an honest and mature way, you can keep yourself open to those older and wiser, who maybe know a little bit more than you do. You can also fill yourself with all of the knowledge and lessons that are out there for you to learn and experience.

I am so excited for you, I am so proud of you, and I am slightly nervous for you. Whenever you think in this next phase of your life that you can’t do it, whatever that may be, I just want you to think about how you have made it to this point, and overcome everything that was meant to stop you. I also want you to remember why you started this journey of your college career. As your older sister and someone whose life is both similar to yours and also vastly different, I have been in college for five years and when I walk across the stage, it will have been six years since I started at your age towards my degree. There have been many moments where I did not think it was worth it or that I could do it. Thankfully, I never stopped. This leads me to my next point. The assignments and moments that seem meaningless and insignificant, you will later find out that they are what have gotten you to the greatest view and destinations. What seems insignificant is often really meaningful and important to commit to and take seriously wholeheartedly.

When you are given a really bad hand in life like we have been given, you have 2 choices. You can use it for good, work hard, and come back to win the game, or you can use it as a reason to not elevate higher than it. My advice…do not choose the latter. Hear me crystal clear when I say this: There is a reason you are here. There’s a reason you have overcome everything you have and why you are still standing strong. God has a plan for you and the world needs you. Your choices matter.

College is a double-edged sword, like most things in life. It is a time when you can truly set the world on fire, learning more about yourself and your passion than ever before. It will also serve you some of the hardest moments that you have lived through: financially, mentally, and emotionally. You will meet people who will help you in your hardest classes, and you will meet people who are choosing things that will hurt them. You’ll be exposed to people with every view in the world, and you get to choose yours. With so many world views, passions and backgrounds all in the same place, it is more important than ever to remain grounded in who you are and what is important to you. You are a smart and strong individual who I am proud to call my brother. You need to have the strength to separate yourself from people making harmful decisions. You need to separate yourself from people not leaving the party when you have a paper to write. You need to be able to separate yourself from people who seem like your friends, but really are not. When you separate yourself from the wrong people, you will run into all of the right ones. Being strong in this life is very much about understanding the importance of your life, the people you surround yourself with, as well as the choices that you make.

I expect you to have fun, but I also expect you to recognize when it is time to buckle down. You have come too far not to reach your full potential. There is a reason you started this journey, and I’d like to see you see it through, because I know that you have everything in you that you need to do it. If there ever comes a day when you find that this is not your journey, then there are other ways to build a successful life. As long as you have done the proper soul-searching, then I will trust the decisions you make, and I will be there for you every step of the way.

This now truly becomes your life. To sum up the important points:

What feels insignificant is often meaningful. The decisions you make are important and they matter, choose wisely, they will determine your future. You are strong enough and smart enough to be successful, and I expect to see you be just that.

Most 18-year-olds will not understand the profound journey you have already traveled. I want you to remember that I do. It is one of the greatest things I have going for me in my life to be your big sister, and I want you to call me anytime you need me. I am here for you, I love you, and I am just a text or call away. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and because I know you will, limit yourself to three of those your entire college career.

I will miss you so much but we will always be brother and sister. Go set the world on fire. Heaven and Earth are cheering you on.

❤️

There are empty spaces where your carefully drawn out decorations used to be

Your belongings disappearing slowly but right before my eyes

like the sun in a December sky

Tonight I sat in the empty spaces that were once full

There is a calm in what is empty, a stillness

To be empty is to have nothing

But to have nothing is to once have had something

It is a deceiving predicament, a deceiving quality

The unfilled spaces are not less because they have lost

They renew us through what they have taken away

While reminding us of what stood

And are full of possibilities

There is power in empty spaces.

They are not what they seem.

My mother passed away on December 24, 2010 and since then, two of her three children have inhabited her home filled with her things everyday, thanks to the work of her husband and their stepfather, Ed, who worked to keep it. Now the time has come to move on and let go of her beautiful things that her children cannot take with them. I’m looking to sell these decorative items of my mom’s to homes who appreciate their loved ones and the gift of the present, who pray, who fight the tough battles with love and strength just like my Mom, and take life day by day. 💗 If you would like any of these items but cannot afford the price please just let me know.

To contact: 540-229-9562

I have found the title for my book about my life if I ever write it. “The Life of The Few”. It’s perfect, and it sums up exactly how I want to describe my life in just a few words. I have started it, but I will dedicate my life way more to it once I graduate college next year. That is not to say that no one has lived a life even remotely like ours. It is to say that our lives are unique in the amount of tragedies we have had to overcome, the bond we have because of it, and how it has changed all of our perspectives.

I may spend the rest of my life recovering from unseen tolls of the loss of my parents at ages 7 & 14, that show up sometimes while for the most part remain relatively unseen, yet are very much there. Though when these tolls show themselves they are hard to overlook, I have been convinced that I am better for the life I have lived, and that is a testament that I will strongly declare in my book. What do I mean by that?

I mean that due to the life I have lived, the inner part of my heart has been shaped to live a life that uplifts, empowers, and serves others. I understand and appreciate the time I have with my loved ones. I know that moments are precious while I am living them, and I cannot spend a moment without the awareness of that making it’s way through my mind. I imagine that if I hadn’t lived the life I’ve lived, I wouldn’t have much interest in becoming a teacher. If I did, perhaps I wouldn’t be as passionate. The life I have lived has allowed me to connect with words strung together eloquently that relate the human experience timelessly. I appreciate the human condition because I understand the harsh realities so deeply. I value expression and know that it can help others to feel more understood.

This year is a year of change for the three of us.

Matthew

Matthew moves into school at Radford University through the bridge program to begin his new chapter in his life. The past few years we have become so close and my heart aches at the thought of us not seeing each other everyday. My heart aches even more when I think about the fact that the chapter of our lives where we live together and see each other everyday will be permanently over. My brother is my best friend and has been by my side through the unthinkable. He is, perhaps, the one guy who has always been there and never left. I know we will continue to be close because we have a special bond that is unlike any other. I’m so proud of him and though I will miss him terribly, as long as he buckles down and truly applies himself, I will be happy knowing he is doing incredible things.

Danielle

Danielle starts school at Marymount University after finishing her time at Northern Virginia Community College. I am so happy for her as she embarks on her journey of fashion design and merchandising, something she is meant to do. The feeling of being at a university, studying what you are in love with is one of the best feelings, and when you get the feeling of “this is what I am meant to be doing”—it is everything you could hope for. She is such a hard worker and I know that she will make the most of this new chapter as well as exceed all expectations she has for herself. I hope this new chapter confirms all gifts she was given; and further proves to her what good comes from playing a bad hand of cards really well.

Me

I’m about to begin my senior year at Shenandoah. I never thought I would make it to where I am now and it is a result of the strength I have in me and an incredible village that got me here. This next year will be the most incredible one, because I will get to student teach and write my capstone essay, as well as walk across the stage. I am hopeful and yet also terrified to think of student teaching and having a bunch of students staring at me everyday. I also am nervous to live on campus for the first time in my college career, especially since I commuted last year and the friends I made are a semester ahead of me and both live off campus. I know this next year will require a lot of strength in my academic load, teaching hours, and essays…but I will also have to make huge life decisions for the first time in my life, such as where to apply to teaching jobs, and where to accept them. I know that I have the strength to do whatever this year throws at me, even if it gives me awful nerves.

I hope that I can handle the changes this year is bringing so quickly. I hope that my siblings and I stay close and defy all odds, continuing to prove that we are better for having lived the life of the few. ❤️

She’s unique.
She holds an ocean inside of her chest that often seeps into her stomach
The ocean’s waves crash against her, and she can feel the roughness of their final push back as they come in and carry themselves out into the vastness of itself.
At certain times they are constant, heavy, with frequent peaks.
They are unsafe waters.
It is not a beach for the weak.
When the waves begin to lighten their force she breathes, as the sea begins to settle in her.
It is calm, and the stillness makes the harshest hour worthwhile.

My first home was an apartment in Manassas, Virginia that my parents brought me to in the days after I entered the world while my father fixed up a family home in Culpeper for us to move into. That home in Culpeper was on the street ‘Lesco Boulevard’, and little did I know then, that it would become more than just my childhood street. I lived there until I was 10. My father died in a very painful way in late May when I was 7. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 10, and we were still residing in that house. I confronted both of those realities there. Before and between those happenings, there were many sunny days spent in the backyard, many laughs, sibling births, and so much joy there.

My mother re-married when I was 11 and she and my step-father began to look for a new house.

I remember riding in the car with my mother, brother, and sister to Reva, Virginia following the real estate agent. It seemed like a world away to an 11 year old even though it was really only 15 minutes down the road. I remember thinking in my head that no house would ever compare to Lesco Boulevard, that I would never be as connected to a place as I was with my childhood home, the only place I ever lived with both of my parents. You don’t have to tell me that those are mature thoughts for an 11 year old to have, I know, and yes, I have always been that way.

We pulled onto a private, gravel road, lined at the beginning with what looked like a row of Christmas trees on the side. The second house on the left and the only white one was where we stopped. It was the only house on the street with a paved driveway, a garage, and a sun-room. I had a frown on my face, quite unimpressed. Yet, as I opened the car door and ran out onto the side of the backyard from the driveway, my face beamed with joy and happiness. I had a smile as big as one could imagine. I felt the air hit my body as I ran quickly down the hill. I yelled across the yard to my siblings, “Do you guys see how big this yard is?! This house is so nice!” My Mom and step-father ended up putting an offer on the house and the owners took it. It would officially become our new home. I was about to start middle school, so what a perfect time for a new home.

I originally moved into the basement bedroom because I was the oldest. My first night in that bedroom was strange and unfamiliar. There was a noise coming from the storage room (which happened to be in that room) that sounded like a dog out of breath. I fell asleep to the feeling of accepting the unordinary. I eventually traded rooms with my younger sister and have been in the same bedroom ever since.

My Mom adopted the room upstairs that was supposed to be the living room as her “special room”, because she kept her precious white couches in there. She conditioned herself to vacuuming it two times a day at the very least, so that she could see the lines in the pink carpet perfectly, like some adore to see in their grass made from the lawnmower. She would take the pillows off of the couches every few days to add life to them, let them sit there a few hours, and then put them back on. Even though it was the living room, not much living went on there. She never allowed my siblings or I in it. She said that we could mess up any other room in the house but we were not to mess up this one. I remember a few times my little brother going into the room and my Mom swiftly calling for him to get out. That room became the space that breathed her name and spoke her presence into my heart for ten difficult, important years. It was a unique room, with pink carpet. If you sat there long enough, you just might be able to pick out the individual strands. The lamps on the sides of the couches complimented the couches perfectly, and the picture frame above it matched the colors of the room. We all associated the picture frame and lamps with the couches.

My Mom passed away on December 24, 2010, on my fourteenth birthday, from metastasized breast cancer. I confronted the reality of being parent-less in that very room. I confronted the hard fact of my birthday, a day that is supposed to be celebrated by someone, become melancholic, a day that would be hard to be joyous. I watched the funeral home men carry my mother out of the house, past the her room, and down the pink stairs on Christmas Eve.

I moved out of the house after that for most of my high school years. I had some things to sort out, it was too hard to be there. Then, towards the end of my junior year, I needed to move back. My uncle told me he “had a feeling that one day I would circle back there”.

For ten years after my mother’s passing, I inhabited this house, thanks to the hard work of my step-father who worked to keep it. I was surrounded by all of my mother’s things in this house. I feel her so deeply there. I sat in her beloved room for hours upon hours, appreciating it, soaking it in, and writing in it. I walked past projects that remained un-finished due to unfair death. I stared into rooms and closed my eyes and saw my mother enter them, recalling almost perfectly her every movement from my memory. I used my Mom’s southern living dishes, and as I opened the cabinet, I saw the September 2010 calendar pass me just as she had left it taped to the cabinet door. I looked at spaces in the house and remembered moments we had there, talks, and fights. I spent years in my room that had been my room from middle school, to high school, to college, feeling as if I still had normalcy in my life. I brought people I loved to this house to meet or visit with my family, sometimes, people I loved more than they loved me. I spent hours downstairs with my step-dad watching old western movies, Captain Ron, Cape Fear, and Leo movies, talking to him about life. I spent many Christmas’s, Thanksgivings’, Easter’s, and Fourth of July’s here. I spent nights outside in the driveway talking and looking at the stars. I had my best friend Reagan over to laugh and dance and talk. I had many people pick me up here, take me out, and bring me home. I cried many tears here, and got over many heartbreaks. I thought I would never overcome my depression here. I spent time feeling connected to my Mom here, in the embrace of her precious things, which almost made up for the many years I unfairly lost with her. It has been my safe space for ages. It has been the place that I can run to when I need to break because I can’t possibly stand any longer. It has withstood every storm, standing strong in it’s place…and quite similarly…so have I.

The realization that my step-dad is about to put this house on the market has not been an easy one for me. It will be hard for a very long time. It is something I cry about and struggle with every day. It is losing my safe space, losing the last physical part of my Mom. It feels like she will really be gone once this house is occupied by a new family.

Oh, sweet house. Dear sweet house, though people may not think as highly of you because you have tiles over wallpaper, unfinished redecorating, blemishes, and stains…you are more than anyone could ever comprehend. No one could ever love you more.

As I stood outside in the starry, dark night with my boyfriend Braden the other day, looking at the house from an angle and crying while explaining to him how much anguish this has been causing me, I realized that the selling of this house is the end of my childhood. I never thought I had much of a childhood. Frankly, I felt I had been robbed of one because cancer, substance abuse, death, depression, and tears consumed much of it…however, as I cried about the loss of this house, I affirmed something I needed so deeply to know.

I had a childhood full of so much love, authenticity, and joy of the most genuine kind.

A house, I have found, can be a mirror onto yourself, to teach you about standing strong, hope, weathering storms, the dreary winters, the most intense and overbearing summer heat, torrential downpours, and utter wreckage and ruin..

I will take a part of you with me everywhere I go. I can’t imagine not having you, but I will love you from afar.

A house is full of your mom’s things, even though she doesn’t reside there anymore. She is heavenly.

As we decide which of my Mom’s things to keep and which to sell, thank you for teaching me that the best part of my Mom was a girl and the people who lived in you all along. That if I look in the mirror, if I look at my habits, and the most intrinsic parts of myself, I will find her, where she has always lived.

Thank you for being my safe space.

I am happy to think of one day, finding a new house, with my own family, that feels like just like home.

As for you, I know you will still be standing strong.

Thank you for teaching me that sometimes, a house can be a home.