Not Our House Anymore

We weren't really sure what we were doing this July 4th, because we don't do the big community fireworks shows, and our new neighborhood isn't quite the community we had at our old house -- and then we got a call from our old neighbors, an invite to their backyard-and-street fireworks show! We were so excited -- this happened almost every year we were there, and neighbors mosey on over when the fireworks start going off in the street (smaller ones, sprays and aliens and stuff like that, no mortars), and then we move back to the backyard, where our neighbor has an insane lineup of multiple-mortar boxes from Phantom Fireworks. It's all the good stuff from a fireworks show without the crowds, parking issues, or traffic.

Except in years past, we just came out the door and POOF, there we were...and then at the end we helped clean up and POOF, we were back at home.

So it was real weird to drive 20 minutes or so to get there, and to have to find a place to park that wasn't likely to be hit with pyrotechnics gone astray, and to know that when it was over we had to drive home instead of walk across the street.

We showed up and waved, and our neighbors were excited to see us. "The new people don't wave from their car" one of our neighbors whispered, "so I thought that was you!" We apparently drive the same car. Weird.

I am happy to report that my gardens that are not my gardens anymore look lovely -- I had real plant envy. The neighbors said that the new people aren't gardeners, but from what I could see it looked like they were at least maintaining things well. I had to keep repeating to myself, "It took 13 years to get this looking this good. This is THIRTEEN YEARS of garden development" because my new garden spaces are so sparse and first-year anemic.

We were total creepers, looking in the windows (from across the street, we're not creepy!), trying to get a glimpse of what our house looks like when a family of four (and a cat and a dog) live in it.

We heard the familiar sound of the screen door opening and shutting, and a child came out of our house. Sorry, the house that's not ours anymore.

That was surreal.

The parents didn't come out, or rather they briefly came out to sit on the front steps and then went back in, and the younger son was in bed already, but their oldest hung out and watched the fireworks in the street for a good half hour. I guess it's good the parents didn't come out, because I'd think it'd be awkward to be like, "oh, we used to live here" and we couldn't really pretend otherwise since we were with all the neighbors, and we were worried they'd be like, "um, there's some issues with the basement/garage/any number of things that could be wrong with a house built in 1934."

It still felt very Twilight Zone -- here we were, watching evidence of someone else's life in our house, and it was a life we'd wanted but didn't have.

Something made very clear when another neighbor said, obliviously, "Ah, it's so great to finally have some life in the neighborhood, so wonderful to have a family and kids right across the street!"

OUCH. STABBY STABBERSON.

I have to remind myself that even if people knew that we'd had issues (to put it mildly) with family building, we've moved away and people don't retain that information if they aren't in a closer circle. I don't think it was meant to be hurtful but it was not a good feeling. So sorry we couldn't oblige on that front, so sorry we were the lifeless neighbors across the street.

We saw the amazing fireworks display in the back (oddly many of the people had left to go home by then, which wasn't the case in years past), and it was truly experiential -- they exploded above us and rained down ash and bits of cardboard and even partial tubes from the boxes, and I felt gritty and covered in chemicals until I showered at home. But it was AWESOME. Bryce joked that next year he's bringing goggles.

The thing that was interesting was that we didn't feel sad that that wasn't our house anymore. There was no lingering sadness over losing that stage of our life. We loved that house, but it's funny how this new house feels just perfect for us, tailored for what we love to enjoy, and so the other house seems...less now. It served its purpose. It saw a lot of joy, but also a lot, a LOT of pain and loss and disappointment. It's fitting that a family lives there now, that we moved on to the house we were meant to have and it got the family it wanted. (Which sounds all weird and personified, but it makes sense to me.) It's like that house represented the life that we wanted to have but couldn't manifest, and now the life we wanted but don't have is there, and we live our new life, free from the expectations that were shattered, in our new house that fits the life we have just right.

It will be interesting to go back, since we do have friends on the street, and see how the house changes over time. I will try very, very hard not to be tempted to go dig up a bunch of my plants if it starts to look like the garden is meeting its gradual demise.

I'm glad that it feels like closure, like a closing of a door on a part of our life that was very difficult and filled with discomfort and fruitless striving. I'm glad that we came home to our home and felt that satisfied feeling of, "Ahhhh, we're HOME, really and truly home."