I promise not to be a baby

-after this...

 

My parents are moving this summer.  They're leaving Kansas and the country and moving to Iowa and the city.  Last week was the last time I'll ever be home.

 

Endings stink.

My mom and dad haven't lived in a neighborhood for 31 years.  They have never had a fenced yard.  They've had horses since I was 5.  And the only garage they've ever had smells like a barn.

I am not looking forward to the first visit at their new place.  At all.  I don't like this kind of change, even when it ends up being awesome. 

But I remember the first night I slept in the house they're leaving: I hated it.  I wanted my old room in our old house.  Then time and new memories made this house home:

 All will be well.  Where they are is HOME.  Not horses or zip codes or barns or houses full of good (and not so good) memories.  I know that. 

But for just a while longer, I'm going to mourn a little, and remember a lot.

And when I'm done being sad, I'll be thankful.  For the childhood I had- with horses and freedom and creeks to explore and basements to turn into movie theaters.  With cousins and friends and kick the can and boogy-man games.  With trampolines and hay forts and dirt roads to learn to drive on and run cross-country routes on. 

Life was good.  And is good. 

 

 And will be good.