Brent and I moved into our apartment in March 2015.
It was the month of his birthday and we had been dating about 6 months. At that time one of my sons moved in with us.
In that time this little 2 bedroom home has seen all of my children, except my eldest daughter, live with us, at some point. Some permanent, others just needing a place between jobs.
We have had many family meals, birthdays, Easters, Christmases and holidays all in the crammed little lounge.
Brent and I have planned our own wedding here, as well as hosting my eldest daughters bridal shower and getting everyone ready on the morning of her wedding.
We celebrated our gender reveal and that of my eldest son and first grandbaby here.
We’ve welcomed our own little boy and watched him pass all his milestones from his first smile to learning to walk up and down these horrid stairs and potty training in the bathroom where we had to change the toilet seats.
It’s seen loss and tears but also known friendships and joys. There has been laughter and fun and of course fights. But mostly it has felt love.
It’s here that I broke my leg on the steps whilst Hamish was 3 weeks old and here that I, through many frustrations, learnt to walk again after many months.
It’s a home that has known bad health but one where we have healed.
We’ve seen career changes and unemployment and weathered it all.
It is also here that I started not one but two businesses, turned the lounge and garage into a costume shop and painted murals on the wall.
It’s been a home for us to express ourselves from painting the glass windows with Hamish and crafting with the teens.
It’s been a home …
My first consistent home ever in my 45 years. The first home I’ve not had to pack up and move from in a year.
It feels strange to write that and I think I never truly understood the sentiments behind why people struggle to move, as I’m most likely one of the least materialistic people I know.
But, two weeks ago I decided to look for a new home and by the Saturday we had found one, were signing a lease and preparing to give notice to move by July.
We have long outgrown this home. We have wanted to move for 4 years and have been in a month to month lease since then. We no longer fit in the space.
But, as I start to pack up, I’m also holding on. Not to physical items but to memories.
That time I crawled up the steps with hot coffee and a leg cast because I’d be damned if a broken leg would stop me, only to drop it all at the top.
Hamish’s first steps in the lounge.
The boys helping me to hang pictures or fix a cupboard.
Kerri coming in after school, leaving her stuff all under my feet in the kitchen.
Friends birthdays, baby showers and so many coffee mornings.
Brent and I sharing a bed picnic, eating sushi off of the smallest ottoman and our first braai in the yard.
Our lovely elderly neighbours and the rather odd families too.
I’ve loved this home, it has been good to us.
And now that we set sail to make new memories from next month, my nostalgia is making this moment bitter sweet.
