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I spent tonight cleaning out the last items from my parent's old home (and my home for the majority of my childhood and adolescent years) in Farmington in anticipation of signing the paperwork to sell it in the morning. The home has been on the market for quite some time, so this wasn't exactly a surprise; however, it was sad to walk through it for the last time. It wasn't supposed to be...I had told myself that the house is old, has low cielings, and has served its purpose...but walking through it, the memories came flooding back.

I left my basement room (Scott's old room) for last. I first cleaned out my parents room, where I had gone many Sundays to look for a tie or socks in my Dad's closet. Where my parent's wrapped all our presents on Christmas Eve. Then to my sister Heather's room, where her infamous "Hepther" paper hung for years on the left side of the wall when you opened the door. Next, my old room, which had since been converted to an office for my mom. I remember looking out of the window in the winter and seeing icicles as big as my waist. I remember banging on the door while my siblings locked me in by tying a jump rope between the knobs on my door and the bathroom door across the hall. Next, my sister Robyn's room, which seemed so much smaller than it did 15 years ago.

Downstairs, I took a picture down in our music room, the room I tried to avoid in my youth (and endured countless renditions of piazu, his hands, bring him home, etc. by my father and sisters) until attempting to learn the guitar with my Dad. I took a last look at the living room, where we had spent a ton of family home evenings. The dining room, where I thought my Dad was going to kill my brother after he purposely shook milk everywhere in an argument at dinner. Where we had said our three things we were thankful for each Thanksgiving. Where the kids served dinner to my parents in tuxedos and dresses a few days before my oldest sister's wedding. I passed our regular dinner table, where we ate dinner as a family every day of my life. I carried everything out to the garage through the family room where Matt hit his head on the ceiling beam when we decided to put the couches together and attempt front flips.

Last was the basement. I cleaned out Holly's room, where we had all slept together on the Christmas Eves of year's past. I cleaned out Matt's room, where I would go to "borrow" good CDs and Garbage Pail Kids that he left around. Where we had battled many floods. Where I used to search the window wells for salamanders. Last was my room...where my green couch sat...where my walls were covered by signs of youth...where I slept every night in my waterbed...where I had grown up. The same room that Mom and I spent a few days renovating into a kid's play room years later.

So many memories. Such a great house. It has indeed served its purpose. One of the things I took off the wall was a wooden sign on the wall leading out the front door that has "Walk in the Light" carved in it. I couldn't help but think that this was ultimately the most important thing that happened in that house. Two parents diligently taught 6 kids to walk in the light. So many lessons learned...so many memories.