Laura, I relate to so much of this post. I lost my 17 year old son 3.5 years ago and I am not who I used to be. So much has changed and sometimes just to keep myself from spiraling I imagine life is still the same. Reality then hits me in the face, and I don’t recognize home anymore. Thank you for sharing. -Christy
I've thought of you so much over the years, Christy. I'm glad this post resonated as I hope it makes you feel less alone in your thoughts of "home," and also I'm so sorry that we can never go back again. ❤️
Laura, you are so sweet. I remember going to Sonic with you years ago. I think it was the day before Megs wedding. And then our connection with Enid…the universe is kind of we are willing to see it. So much love to you!!
Christy, one of my best friends lost her 14 year old (and my son's best friend) to suicide four years ago. We've born witness to how a family is changed and home will never be the same. I'm sending you love today.
I'm going to be thinking about this one for a long time. Thank you for sharing this.
We were foster parents to a baby girl for her first two years. Last year, she left to live with an extended bio family member of hers. I've grappled a lot with the idea that while I was her mom for a long time, I'm not her mom anymore. I was once deeply at home as her mama, and now I live here, in a different home, a different relationship with her. It's so good to hear that other people struggle with knowing in their minds that something has happened and you need to move forward, but your body has another interpretation.
I'm so glad your new house is now feeling like home. I also had a gentle voice, but it was that of a therapist, not a dream realtor friend. Like you, a lot had happened good and bad at our old house in San Diego and we decided to move for 3-5 years for a job opportunity for my husband in his home city of Calgary with our two young daughters. 4 years went by and I'd had another baby, but still hadn't committed to reading the local news or signing up for loyalty cards at the grocery store or gas station, or doing anything about becoming a dual citizen, and I'd kept my preschool mom friends fairly superficial. I grew up a Navy brat, so I knew how to survive moving every few years. With my husband's commitment and increasing financial entanglement to his work, it became clear that we would not be moving anytime soon. I was lonely, in a foreign country, with 3 small children and not a lot of support. The therapist basically said, "sh*t or get off the pot," meaning, leave your husband, take the kids and move back to your mama OR invest in yourself and your surroundings, and LIVE where you are. So, I did. Fast forward 20 years and here we still are. I still get strange feelings when I'm shoveling snow, or words like "sorry" instead of "excuse me" or "grade 12" instead of "Senior" come out of my mouth, like, "who am I and how did I get here?!?" BUT, we have built a beautiful life and I'm so thankful for the safety and the schools and the experiences my kids have had. For many years, there were random things I missed desperately, rolled tacos, the beach, Trader Joe's, as well as my friends and family, but all but the last two have faded over time. I love the change of seasons, I have grown to love the mountains, I don't mind the snow (although I still think there's too much of it for too long), and I love that Canada is a mosaic, rather than a melting pot. AND, I have loyalty cards galore, a book club going on 8 years, as well hockey and dance mom friends long after my kids have aged out of their sports. Take care and thank you for sharing!
I love this so much. We moved in the summer of 2023, and the emotional ties I felt to the home where the triplets grew up really surprised me. I was raised without much nostalgia and eventually learned to take pride in not being attached to people, places, or things. But of course, the boys disarmed me of that and so did that house.
On the day of the final move, just as we were about to drive away, I heard a quiet voice inside me say, “This is really sad, and you're allowed to feel really sad about it.” In response, I did something I'd never done before: I asked one of the boys to take a picture of me standing alone in the yard. It might seem like a small thing, but for me, it was a weird and super vulnerable thing to do.
That house burned down in the fires this year. I'm so grateful I have that picture. And I'm so heartbroken it's gone. I had always imagined that, years from now, I might sheepishly knock on the door and ask to peek down those hallways again—the same halls where the boys learned to walk and talk. Most of the happiest memories of my life were in that house.
The property feels like a magnet now. I find myself driving by it often. My thoughts are still really elementary only getting as far as “I can't believe it's gone.” This reflection has been really helpful. Thank you for sharing your story so I could share mine.
Teresa, I feel like I could write a whole essay in response to this comment. (or maybe you should? 😂) I am SO GLAD you took that picture. Just today, trying to find photos for this post, I was sad I didn't take any of me. Just the kids or just the empty rooms. And I'm the person who preaches about selfies! So that part of your comment especially stuck.
Also, when we were living in the Los Feliz house, two kids one time sheepishly came and asked if they could just peek inside. They'd lived in the house before us and since we bought it from the bank out of forclosure, I knew that story was complicated and likely they were sad not to live there anymore. It made me wonder if one day we'd be the ones to knock on the door. We do still drive by sometimes, when we're on that side of town. And it still hurts! So I can imagine the complications of losing your old home in the fires this year. Grief and loss together, even after you've moved on.
I am (obviously) still learning to love what we had there and love what we have now. In both the houses and not the houses.
This is so relatable on so many levels. For me, as absolutely ridiculous as this sounds, as I approach 40 in a few months I feel this way just about my own identity. I didn't feel this way so much moving from my 20s to my 30s. But this feels like "moving" moving.
I don’t think that’s ridiculous at all! There is definitely a different threshold at the 40 mark. (I will also offer that there is so much GOOD in your 40s. A coming into yourself!)
Wow. What a powerful dream! This really resonates. I love that you have made your new place home even if it took some years. I still call our house the “new house” although we have lived here 8 years now! I’m realizing I still grieve our little family that has grown up. I haven’t quite stepped into the “now” space, accepted it and made it homey. Thanks for the inspiration. And also how you boldly share your inner thoughts / feelings/ wisdom. 💫 And those eggplant walls are to die for!!
Many years ago we rented a duplex where the doors to the closets ran to the ceiling and the main bedroom closet was behind the door when opened. It was a nuisance so I usually left the closet door open. One ghastly hot August evening I had a shower and lay starkers on the top of the bed to try to get some sleep before a night shift. In that hot not really sleeping state I realized someone had run into the closet when I came into the bedroom but as I had shut the bedroom door the guy was trapped in the bedroom, When he made to leave, I yelled. My husband came running. And the neighbour who was visiting said in his lovely Scottish burr as the intruder ( who had left with the contents of our wallets ) bolted past and was gone) "for what he saw he should hae left some money.
The impact hit me after I went to work. It is such a violation to have one's sanctuary invaded. I have to assume that your incident was potentially more violent and yes, the remnants of that negative energy are polluting.
This made me think of a room in our house that for years was my son's therapy room. When he was young we spent so many hours in that room & it was sacred space. It was also a reminder of the fact that we were living a life we didn't plan for & it held a lot of grief for me. Many years later, when we were far removed from those early years of an autism diagnosis & he was doing so well, I forced myself to enter that room, feel the grief for a bit, thank it for being sacred space & acknowledge that we didn't live in this part of the journey anymore. I packed away the therapy toys & tools, gave it a fresh coat of paint & now it is my husbands bright & lovely office, serving another part of our journey.
Gosh, I love your writing. Always have, always will. Thank you for this lovingly crafted metaphor (or should we be thanking your subconscious? lol). I know so very many of us struggle with letting go of what is no longer home for us. What a gift this essay is in easing those big transitions.
I needed to read this. I just moved out of the home I lived for 28 years. I was no longer wanted there. It was where I moved believing in forever and where I raised my son. Now as a 57 year old trying to feel at home in my old place and pick up the pieces right now I just feel numb. I will have to keep saying the same. I don’t live there anymore. I have a new space to make my own ❤️🩹
Oof, this one struck a chord. We don't talk often enough about the difficulty of moving forward ESPECIALLY in times where you are the catalyst for the moving; where you recognize the need for change in the first place! Yet...
Recognizing when we don't "live here anymore" is something I had to do with my church where we were "high capacity" leaders, and even my faith itself. Thanks for sharing this; it's been rolling around in the back of my brain since you posted it.
This might be my favorite thing you've ever written, Laura. Really beautiful, and a phrase that I'll be spinning over in my mind for a while. "You don't live here anymore."
Laura, I relate to so much of this post. I lost my 17 year old son 3.5 years ago and I am not who I used to be. So much has changed and sometimes just to keep myself from spiraling I imagine life is still the same. Reality then hits me in the face, and I don’t recognize home anymore. Thank you for sharing. -Christy
I've thought of you so much over the years, Christy. I'm glad this post resonated as I hope it makes you feel less alone in your thoughts of "home," and also I'm so sorry that we can never go back again. ❤️
Laura, you are so sweet. I remember going to Sonic with you years ago. I think it was the day before Megs wedding. And then our connection with Enid…the universe is kind of we are willing to see it. So much love to you!!
Oh Christy, I am so sorry to read this. Much love to you.
Christy, one of my best friends lost her 14 year old (and my son's best friend) to suicide four years ago. We've born witness to how a family is changed and home will never be the same. I'm sending you love today.
Thank you-losing a child changes everything.
I'm going to be thinking about this one for a long time. Thank you for sharing this.
We were foster parents to a baby girl for her first two years. Last year, she left to live with an extended bio family member of hers. I've grappled a lot with the idea that while I was her mom for a long time, I'm not her mom anymore. I was once deeply at home as her mama, and now I live here, in a different home, a different relationship with her. It's so good to hear that other people struggle with knowing in their minds that something has happened and you need to move forward, but your body has another interpretation.
I can imagine your heartbreak and also maybe your hope? It's harder than it seems to hold both ideas at once. ❤️
Fellow foster mom here who knows your grief 💔
It’s a very hard kind of grief to describe. Thank you 🩷
This is so good. Asking myself what am I emotionally hanging on to but I need to say "You don't live here anymore" .
I'm so glad your new house is now feeling like home. I also had a gentle voice, but it was that of a therapist, not a dream realtor friend. Like you, a lot had happened good and bad at our old house in San Diego and we decided to move for 3-5 years for a job opportunity for my husband in his home city of Calgary with our two young daughters. 4 years went by and I'd had another baby, but still hadn't committed to reading the local news or signing up for loyalty cards at the grocery store or gas station, or doing anything about becoming a dual citizen, and I'd kept my preschool mom friends fairly superficial. I grew up a Navy brat, so I knew how to survive moving every few years. With my husband's commitment and increasing financial entanglement to his work, it became clear that we would not be moving anytime soon. I was lonely, in a foreign country, with 3 small children and not a lot of support. The therapist basically said, "sh*t or get off the pot," meaning, leave your husband, take the kids and move back to your mama OR invest in yourself and your surroundings, and LIVE where you are. So, I did. Fast forward 20 years and here we still are. I still get strange feelings when I'm shoveling snow, or words like "sorry" instead of "excuse me" or "grade 12" instead of "Senior" come out of my mouth, like, "who am I and how did I get here?!?" BUT, we have built a beautiful life and I'm so thankful for the safety and the schools and the experiences my kids have had. For many years, there were random things I missed desperately, rolled tacos, the beach, Trader Joe's, as well as my friends and family, but all but the last two have faded over time. I love the change of seasons, I have grown to love the mountains, I don't mind the snow (although I still think there's too much of it for too long), and I love that Canada is a mosaic, rather than a melting pot. AND, I have loyalty cards galore, a book club going on 8 years, as well hockey and dance mom friends long after my kids have aged out of their sports. Take care and thank you for sharing!
oh I love this! thank you for sharing all of this.
This is one of the best pieces you have written.
I love this so much. We moved in the summer of 2023, and the emotional ties I felt to the home where the triplets grew up really surprised me. I was raised without much nostalgia and eventually learned to take pride in not being attached to people, places, or things. But of course, the boys disarmed me of that and so did that house.
On the day of the final move, just as we were about to drive away, I heard a quiet voice inside me say, “This is really sad, and you're allowed to feel really sad about it.” In response, I did something I'd never done before: I asked one of the boys to take a picture of me standing alone in the yard. It might seem like a small thing, but for me, it was a weird and super vulnerable thing to do.
That house burned down in the fires this year. I'm so grateful I have that picture. And I'm so heartbroken it's gone. I had always imagined that, years from now, I might sheepishly knock on the door and ask to peek down those hallways again—the same halls where the boys learned to walk and talk. Most of the happiest memories of my life were in that house.
The property feels like a magnet now. I find myself driving by it often. My thoughts are still really elementary only getting as far as “I can't believe it's gone.” This reflection has been really helpful. Thank you for sharing your story so I could share mine.
Teresa, I feel like I could write a whole essay in response to this comment. (or maybe you should? 😂) I am SO GLAD you took that picture. Just today, trying to find photos for this post, I was sad I didn't take any of me. Just the kids or just the empty rooms. And I'm the person who preaches about selfies! So that part of your comment especially stuck.
Also, when we were living in the Los Feliz house, two kids one time sheepishly came and asked if they could just peek inside. They'd lived in the house before us and since we bought it from the bank out of forclosure, I knew that story was complicated and likely they were sad not to live there anymore. It made me wonder if one day we'd be the ones to knock on the door. We do still drive by sometimes, when we're on that side of town. And it still hurts! So I can imagine the complications of losing your old home in the fires this year. Grief and loss together, even after you've moved on.
I am (obviously) still learning to love what we had there and love what we have now. In both the houses and not the houses.
This is so relatable on so many levels. For me, as absolutely ridiculous as this sounds, as I approach 40 in a few months I feel this way just about my own identity. I didn't feel this way so much moving from my 20s to my 30s. But this feels like "moving" moving.
I don’t think that’s ridiculous at all! There is definitely a different threshold at the 40 mark. (I will also offer that there is so much GOOD in your 40s. A coming into yourself!)
I am very ready for that! ❤️
Wow. What a powerful dream! This really resonates. I love that you have made your new place home even if it took some years. I still call our house the “new house” although we have lived here 8 years now! I’m realizing I still grieve our little family that has grown up. I haven’t quite stepped into the “now” space, accepted it and made it homey. Thanks for the inspiration. And also how you boldly share your inner thoughts / feelings/ wisdom. 💫 And those eggplant walls are to die for!!
Oh, how I can relate. I’m going to sleep tonight in a house we moved into just days ago. I’m waiting for home.
Many years ago we rented a duplex where the doors to the closets ran to the ceiling and the main bedroom closet was behind the door when opened. It was a nuisance so I usually left the closet door open. One ghastly hot August evening I had a shower and lay starkers on the top of the bed to try to get some sleep before a night shift. In that hot not really sleeping state I realized someone had run into the closet when I came into the bedroom but as I had shut the bedroom door the guy was trapped in the bedroom, When he made to leave, I yelled. My husband came running. And the neighbour who was visiting said in his lovely Scottish burr as the intruder ( who had left with the contents of our wallets ) bolted past and was gone) "for what he saw he should hae left some money.
The impact hit me after I went to work. It is such a violation to have one's sanctuary invaded. I have to assume that your incident was potentially more violent and yes, the remnants of that negative energy are polluting.
This made me think of a room in our house that for years was my son's therapy room. When he was young we spent so many hours in that room & it was sacred space. It was also a reminder of the fact that we were living a life we didn't plan for & it held a lot of grief for me. Many years later, when we were far removed from those early years of an autism diagnosis & he was doing so well, I forced myself to enter that room, feel the grief for a bit, thank it for being sacred space & acknowledge that we didn't live in this part of the journey anymore. I packed away the therapy toys & tools, gave it a fresh coat of paint & now it is my husbands bright & lovely office, serving another part of our journey.
Oh I love this. Thank you for sharing. ❤️
Gosh, I love your writing. Always have, always will. Thank you for this lovingly crafted metaphor (or should we be thanking your subconscious? lol). I know so very many of us struggle with letting go of what is no longer home for us. What a gift this essay is in easing those big transitions.
This was so relevant and so timely for me— I have some stuff to share about this topic, and I’m so grateful that you went first. 💛✨
I needed to read this. I just moved out of the home I lived for 28 years. I was no longer wanted there. It was where I moved believing in forever and where I raised my son. Now as a 57 year old trying to feel at home in my old place and pick up the pieces right now I just feel numb. I will have to keep saying the same. I don’t live there anymore. I have a new space to make my own ❤️🩹
Oof, this one struck a chord. We don't talk often enough about the difficulty of moving forward ESPECIALLY in times where you are the catalyst for the moving; where you recognize the need for change in the first place! Yet...
Recognizing when we don't "live here anymore" is something I had to do with my church where we were "high capacity" leaders, and even my faith itself. Thanks for sharing this; it's been rolling around in the back of my brain since you posted it.
This might be my favorite thing you've ever written, Laura. Really beautiful, and a phrase that I'll be spinning over in my mind for a while. "You don't live here anymore."