Childhood home 

The other day I decided to walk past the house where I used grew up in. It doesn’t look the same anymore. It used to be a small house, that need some fixing. Now it’s a big house, I don’t think it even have a backyard anymore. A house is just a building, but a home is a feeling. 
 Too many memories in that house, I lived there for 22 years of my life. My grandparents couldn’t afford it anymore, they sold their place and they decided to rent, I didn’t know the big picture that we had to until now. My grandma passed away just shortly after we moved. 
Some of the memories of my childhood home are, having chickens, and ducks, running around in the back yard. The rooster crowing first thing in the morning even before it’s light out outside. Watching the grudge with my grandma, hearing a rat chewing on something in the attic and scaring us that we jump out of our seats. 
There’s been good memories but there have been bad memories. My grandpa lost his job, I helped them as much as I could. We played cards every Sunday night, it was our family time together. 
I thought when we move it would created some good memories too, but for me not so much, one of the good memories I had was spending time with my grandma before she passed away. I took care of her while she was home, until she went to the hospital. Having a first Christmas with my nephew. 
A girl that’s afraid of her own bedroom, she’s afraid of monsters living under her bed, at night she sleeps with a night light on. She’s afraid of every little noise that she hears. Her past haunts her, a bedroom is where you’re suppose to feel safe, but a girl doesn’t, she’s terrified. Some days it doesn’t bother her and somedays it does. 
What kind of memories does your home have? 


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