To Home and Heaven

We are selling our beloved house. But our beloved home travels with us; she's called mother.
I will miss the claw foot tub. That's where my sweet heart washed my feet. I will miss the porch swing too. That's where he and I wished on rose petals and talked about the universe. I will miss the green sofa by the windows in the sun. That's where we read novels and watched Cars.

Perhaps in those memories lies the reason why I dread moving this time around. I love change. But moving has never really changed things for me. I've always had the same home. She makes our house into our home.

But this house means Marc to me I think. Every little room is painted with our old laughter, prayers, and thoughts. I hear the echoes of our voices there and just knowing that he used to be in the same space seems to make him more real to me.

But let go! Let go! Houses are interchangeable. Homes remain in our souls. My mother makes home. My Marc makes heaven. They are both welded to my heart. And I find comfort in the truth that they both go on forever.

I love change. But mostly I love those people and places that never can. So here's to Home and Heaven!