I was not pleased when my parents sold the house I grew up in and moved up north. I felt like they were handing all the memories that I had and handing them to someone else. I was not being practical at all. I cried for weeks, (maybe even years).
Looking back is seems a little silly. I loved the new place they moved. It was beautiful. We created some new memories there. I loved going to the Mercantile. I loved the vivid color differences in the fall. I love spending the time in Glacier.
When they decided to move to be closer to us, I should have been happy. All I could see was that they were leaving one of the most beautiful places on the planet and their new home was horrible. I am not sure they moved to the end of the world, but I am pretty dang sure you can see the end of the world from there. It’s ugly there. They continually told me it was a different kind of beautiful. They are correct if a different of kind of beautiful means down right ugly.
Sometimes all these memories seem to leave little holes in my heart. There are so many things I miss. Why is it that I am spending time missing what was instead of loving what is? What kind of bitterness and sadness do I feel I need to carry around?
I guest sometimes it is hard to believe that it’s over. Our family will never be what I remember. It doesn’t matter. Time marches on. Why on earth don’t I put on those marching boots and go with it?
Will I ever learn?