By Laura Fischer
December 28, 2013
My grandparents’ house has been in the family for generations. Every Christmas that I’ve been alive, we’ve gone back there to Roanoke, Illinois, where my parents grew up, met, and were married, to celebrate the holidays with my mom’s side of the family. We also visit frequently on other occasions, and when I was a kid I got to travel out there for summer visits for two weeks at a time. It’s a rambling old farmhouse, not without its problems, but roomy and comfortable and saturated with memories of fun and family.
Not long ago, my grandparents sold that house. They’re moving into a condo in the town, where they won’t have to deal with all the issues of owning a country property with a huge yard and the remnants of old outbuildings. It’s a good move for them, and I know they’ll be comfortable and happy in their new home. I look forward to visiting them there, just like I’ve always looked forward to visiting them.
But I’ll miss the old house. This last weekend, my family went out to Illinois for one more visit. Many items had already been moved out of the house, but it still felt the same as always, warm and welcoming and home. (more…)