Canterbury goodbyes
There are not many things I love more than my childhood home. I know every room like the back of my hand and where every scratch on the walls came from. If I could pick up that house and take it with me wherever I end up, I would in a heartbeat. It’s the perfect house. Maybe I just think that because I’ve spent the last fifteen years there. I understand it isn’t a unique experience to feel attached to the place that you grew up in. It’s just a really emotional experience for me as we move out of the one place that truly feels like home.
The bedroom at the top of the stairs is probably one of my favorite places in the entire world. I wish I was exaggerating when I say that because it would make this whole process a little easier. That room has seen me at my best and worst moments. From college acceptances, heartbreaks, celebrations to meltdowns, it has been there for it all. I’m a packrat and my room reflects that. It’s changed with me through the years. My heart and soul are in that room. And how could they not be?
It feels so silly to have such an intense attachment to this place. I know I’m being dramatic, but it really is heartbreaking to think about leaving this place behind. I get it, new beginnings and all that. I’m excited for the next era of our lives, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to grieve the ending of this chapter a little bit.
I hope the new family enjoys this house as much as I have. It’s still weird for me to think about a different little girl growing up in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. For now, I’ll just enjoy the very limited amount of time I have left here. The door that creaks too loud, the desk that’s always messy, the bookshelves I organized alphabetically by author’s last name, the shower door that fell off, the wall of pictures, the closet that’s a girl’s dream. I could go on forever. The house on Canterbury Lane will always have my heart, but now my little bedroom in Austin feels like the closest thing to home. It’s a lot to handle.
