Recently, I walked through my childhood home, for the last time. As I reflected on all the memories I take with me, I also wondered what future celebrations will take place at the new house.
My nostalgia was tempered by my excitement for my parents.
You can go home again, I think. It's just that home is always changing. Trees come down, rooms are remodeled, patios are rebuilt.
The bedroom of my girlhood, a refuge for so many fanciful daydreams, is now where my children sleep during our visits. The stuffed animals, Daddies posters, journals and beads are long gone.