This House Was Her Home

To those that move in next to this house they will never know that some of my best and worst moments reside here. They will never know that this house is not just any house, it was her home. Filled with the only memories I have left of her. 

You see that living room, there was a nice couch that took up much of the space. On that very couch, in that very living room is the place she told me she had terminal cancer. That very living room is where my world came to a complete stop. You see that room in the back, that was her room.  In that very room was a bed she would lay in sick from treatment. In the corner of that room was a chair that I would sit in many nights, watching closely making sure she was still with me. That bathroom is where I would hold her had on the floor when she was sick and weak. The second bedroom is where I would help her email friends that were out of state to tell them the news that she was terminal. That back porch is filled with the best memories, all the good ones are tied to that little spot in the house. The laughs and long talks before and after she was sick were shared right there. That dining room that is bare now held a table where we sat and wrote out her will word by word, line by line. That kitchen is where she cooked and baked with love. It's where she would make my favorite dish even when there were days she was too sick to stand.  

To you the person moving in, this house is just a house. To me this house was a home. A home that housed my grief, a home that sent my world spinning out of control and coming to a complete stop all at once. To me, this house was not just a house it was her home.