The House

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By Lucy Winn Fuller

After awaking from a dream where I was walking down the stairs of my grandparents house, I began to remember all of the memories. I hold all of those memories near and dear to my heart. It reminded me of the day that house was torn down. That day was emotionally taxing, to say the least. I wrote the following words on the day the house was taken down. I felt it necessary to share.
The fondest memories I have of my childhood are the ones that were made in my grandparents’ house.
Mama and Daddy were in the middle of a divorce. Me and Mama moved from our tiny little town in Georgia to this sweet little college town…Auburn. We moved in with my grandparents. Daddy died shortly after we got here so Mama and Mema raised me.
I grew up in costumes and a make-believe world that consisted of horses, Scarlett O’Hara and playing in the creek that ran through the front yard.
I lived in dress-up clothes. I was a Southern Belle in a hoop skirt and pink tennis shoes that I promised Mama I would not get muddy in the creek … but I did anyway.
My best friends were a little white dog named Cinderella and my first kitten named Emily.
It is interesting how you forget things as you get older. I guess you have to make so much room in your head as an adult, that some of the things of lesser importance maybe gets thrown into the backroom of your mind. Only to be stirred up one day in the most brutal way.
I heard the trucks pull on the street this morning. I knew what they were here for. I have been preparing myself for this moment for weeks, for months, actually…for the past year.
You can prepare yourself over time. You can build up your strength and even have extra saved up for that time in which you know you will need it. None of the preparation matters when the time comes.
I know that all people go through different battles, different struggles and losses in life.
Some battles are very insignificant in the grand scheme of things … but only to some people.
Today, the trucks that I heard pulling down the street, are the trucks that hold the machines and people who are coming to destroy a place of memories. Priceless memories.
A two-story brick house. One huge front porch with four white columns. The grand stair-case with the gold handrail and purple carpet.
The White Room. The Horse Room. The attic and the treasures it once held. The marks on the wall that showed how tall I grew over the years that I lived there.
The tears. The laughter. The screaming. The Christmases. Birthdays. Bridge Club parties.
Sitting with my grandfather listening to Auburn football on the AM radio.
My daddy. His death. My mother’s first date. My grandmother’s last breath.
Today, the house is being laid to rest along with all of the crazy, horrible, wonderful, breathtaking, heartbreaking and hilarious memories that it harbored.
The house that I always ran to when me and Mama didn’t see eye-to-eye.
I sit here and close my eyes and one more time, I am four years old, missing my daddy, holding onto my Mema as she says “It’s okay baby. It’s all gonna be alright.” Then with a loud crash of a falling tree being bulldozed to the ground, I am brought back to reality.
Lucy Fuller is a lover of nature, animals, gardening and old houses. She is a full time mother and wife. She currently resides in Dadeville with her husband, two daughters, four dogs and cat. She may be reached at fullalove2017@gmail.com.

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