Commemorating spring this past weekend with the full bloom of the cherry blossoms and a trip down to the countryside for my MIL's bday. My husband and I both grew up in the same county, and though I've been back there to visit his family at least a few times a year, in the five years since my family moved, I had not been back even once to see my childhood home. It's been something that I've struggled with since we moved. Not that I liked the place so much - I have a lot of baggage about it - but nothing really compares to your childhood home. And we lived there for 16 years - me from ages 4 to 20.
The neighborhood that I grew up in was huge and every cross street was lined with cherry blossoms. Since we were down there on Sunday I figured I should try to summon a little courage just to drive by and see the house. It was a little painful and though I could see it and know this was my house, and see the windows that were my room, the feeling of time passing is just so prevalent. It's not our house anymore; it's been an entire five years since we lived there, though my mom's magnolia tree was beautifully in full bloom.
The home that was mine will always live vividly in my memory though.