Yesterday was a bittersweet day. An interested buyer made an offer on the house in which I grew up and where my mother had lived from 1959 to just recently, when it was necessary for her to move to an assisted-living apartment. My six siblings and I are excited, thankful and a little sad (Mom signed the contract with tears in her eyes but felt a little better when I told her that the house needed to be filled with a happy family who would take care of it, not dark, empty and musty). All summer we sorted, boxed, trashed and cleaned, and in September we held an estate sale. The five bedroom house seems smaller now - not quite the same any more and yet it holds so many memories. The stories of many lives began or were influenced here, struggles were overcome, traditions were established, tears and laughter intermingled. In the 1960's there were no less than five children in every house on the block, so the backyards echoed with voices at play and the streets were busy with bicycles, skates and strollers. It's quieter now - families are smaller and people spend much less time outdoors. So the house will embrace a different family now but we will hold the house forever in our hearts.
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