30 years later

I stood outside my house today watching my not so little bundle of joy flitting back and forth between trike rides and water play. I felt the sweat dripping off my forehead which comes from mowing an entire front and back (too big) yard. I stood motionless listening to the wind whipping through the trees. Lately every emotion brings me to an utter stop. I wonder if I will ever feel this exact way again. I am on the move. In a moment I may disappear. This may disappear.

A black Mercedes drove up and slowed way down. I am used to this. My FOR SALE sign begs that people slow down. But this time it was different. the car slowed down and stopped in front of my neighbor's house. I extracted myself from my emotions and made sure I could lay eyes upon my little girl. Then the engine cut out.

A blonde haired woman stepped out. "I hope you don't mind," she stated. "I grew up in this house. I just want to snap a few pictures."

I wished later that I had asked her name because our interaction was instantaneously friendly.

"Wow," I stated, "how long has it been?"

"I grew up here, moved out when I went to college, oh about 30 years ago."

30 years ago, I thought? That was just about the time that my parents moved me into this town. I immediately was drawn to this ironic stranger. We spoke about remodels, driveways, neighborhood kids, rotten porches, bathrooms,  grass, history. I didn't want to let her go. She was a part of me. She had grown up in my bestest neighbor's house and knew so much about my house and it's surroundings. I was mesmerized.

"Well, thanks so much," she called out when she finally made it back to her car. "Good luck with your move."

This is what I needed. I needed to meet her. I needed to watch her drive slowly down the street and then stop and get out to take a picture of her childhood home. A sense of relief washed over me. I connected to my house's history. She connected to her neighborhood's future. It was a pure moment. In that moment, I released my home. I released my hold.

I imagine that one day (in my 60s) I will drive down North 34th, slow down, get out, apologize and take a couple snapshots. I am hopeful that there will be someone outside willing to chat about histories and futures.