I think I drew this charcoal sketch of the view from my childhood bedroom window about 15 years ago:
It sits in my bedroom now, above my desk where I write, grade papers, and am currently trying to teach Oliver to fetch (it's a process -his goal is to teach me patience).
We (my family and I) said goodbye to our childhood home about 2 weeks ago. I found myself taking pictures of the windows - the views. I was really trying to avoid pictures of an empty house. I wanted to remember it full of us. In the end, everything went into the moving truck and as we walked down the driveway for the last time, I believe the walls were still vibrating from all the noise we made over the years. It never felt empty.
I did snap this one of the closet my sister and I shared:
(I'm not sure I'll ever find a dresser that will hold that much stuff ever again!)
My sister and I used to climb up to the top, and pretend that we were trapped on a speeding boat or a runaway train. I remember writing with my finger on the dirty window pane: "Save Us!" In my neatest 8 year old handwriting. Of course it was backwards to anyone looking in - which was pretty much impossible because we were at the top of a hill. And then the rain would regularly wash it away. It's funny the small things we remember.
Honestly, letting go of this home was rough but it was time to move on. This place will always be special but it's just a house and walls that kept us safe from the elements - what I will always carry with me is who I lived there with, all the noise we made, and the view from the windows.