My Grandparent's old house - Abbey Boesiger

Abbey Boesiger

Writing About Travel

C. Severino 

September 11, 2018 

Home is Where the Heart Is

             One of the most meaningful places to me is my grandparent’s old house. I haven’t been there in several years. Not since my grandmother died and my granddad moved into an apartment. I remember driving up and seeing them waiting for us through the glass door, big smiles on their faces. They would come out and give us warm, welcoming hugs, a comfort after a long day on the road. Traveling to their house was always worth it, no matter how far away we lived. 

            My best memories from their house were at Christmastime. The spicy spell of my grandmother’s favorite candle filled the air, along with the laughter of my family. We would all come together for Christmas, all my aunts and uncles and cousins. We would pile into the three extra bedrooms, adults on the beds and kids exiled to sleep on the scratchy carpet. It wouldn’t matter though, because my granddad would come into the room early in the morning and say “yoohoo kids, time to get up!” He’s an early riser and we were too when we stayed at their house. I remember waking up one year on Christmas morning and sneaking out into the living room to peek at the presents. Piles of bright, colored boxes sat under the massive tree, waiting patiently to be opened by our eager little hands. I was tempted to open one but my conscience got the better of me and I went back into the bedroom to wait for everyone else to wake up. 

            It was always a celebration when we all got together. The air filled with storytelling and laughter, a welcome sound since we don’t see each other very often. My young cousins would run around the living room, yelling at me to come and play with them. I often would, pretending I was a princess or chef or whatever their little imaginations would come up with. I always felt like I belonged at their house. I felt comfortable and warm and welcomed and happy to be around all of the people I love. They loved to hear about what was going on in my life and I loved hearing what was happening in theirs. My granddad is a pastor, so if we were there on a Sunday we would meet up at the church and hear him preach. 

His faith is what brought us all together. Even after my grandmother died, he’s never lost faith. He sold the house, along with all of it’s cherished memories, and moved to a small apartment by himself. We’ve visited him a few times and it just isn’t the same. We can’t all gather in one place for holidays or celebrations like we used to. Our family is still a family but we lost a crucial piece of it. Christmas was my grandmother’s favorite time of year and it doesn’t pass without me remembering her warm Christmas cookies and extensive collection of decorations. Their home may be someone else’s home now, but it will always hold a special place in my heart.