The Houses That Stay With Us

Today I found myself driving through my old hometown of Elberon. For a moment, I almost missed my turn off because I was busy calculating how long it had been since I last lived in our family home.

Forty four years.

But who’s counting?

The house itself was a beautiful 125 year old Victorian. My father lovingly restored it piece by piece over the years. My mother, who jokingly called it “Witt’s End,” somehow transformed it into something far greater than wood, paint, wallpaper, and furniture.

She made it "home".

This weekend, my daughter and her family moved into a new home. Same town, different house. As we talked, she mentioned that aside from our family home where she grew up, the house they just left will probably always be her favorite.

I understood exactly what she meant.

I feel that way about the house where I grew up.

Sometimes, especially when I can't sleep, I find myself walking through that house in my mind. I can still remember the exact placement of the furniture. I can almost hear the sounds and smell the scents of everyday life that once filled those rooms.

In my memory, my father is sitting at the kitchen table fixing an old clock, and my mother is nearby in her favorite chair, reading the paper and having a cup of tea.

 

Today, as I looked through old photographs of the house, I noticed something that caught my heart. In one picture, my father is standing on the porch waving.

I also found an old photograph of my mother and me in that very chair after I had my wisdom teeth removed. Looking at it now, I realize I was never really remembering the furniture at all. I was remembering how it felt to be loved there.

 

 

A home is never really about brick or wood, whether it is a large Victorian, an apartment, or a duplex. It was about the people inside it. The lives lived there. The feeling that, hopefully someone was happy to see you come home. 

What makes it special is that those old walls witnessed the formation of who we became. They held birthday parties, arguments, illnesses, holidays, ordinary dinners, slammed doors, dates, proms, showers, laughter from another room, and countless moments we barely noticed at the time.

Our childhood home becomes more than a structure. It becomes a container for love, routine, comfort, grief, security, and identity.

Even decades later, we can still walk through those rooms without opening a single door.

And perhaps that is part of what Caitlin’s Star is really about. The story may center around stars, memories, and the people we love, but underneath it all is the understanding that love leaves impressions on us. Certain places, voices, routines, and moments become woven into who we are. They continue to comfort us long after childhood has passed and long after the people we loved are no longer sitting in their favorite chairs.

The people we love may leave the rooms behind, the furniture disappears, the houses may be knocked down or belong to someone else, and entire lives move forward.

Yet somehow, those homes, those people and those memories continue to live within us.