This night one year ago LeRoy and I knelt in prayer asking what we were to do. One week prior our neighbor sold her house - in 3 days - and we had been offered the same on ours. We had no intention of moving in the near future, we were deciding how to remodel the bathroom and our bedroom, and I was settling in for the winter with the thoughts of a new baby coming in the spring.
Halloween day 1 year ago the kids were getting ready to go trick-or-treating and LeRoy and I were sitting at the kitchen table with the real estate agent signing papers to accept the offer . . . and a new year began. One week later, on my birthday, we signed all the closing papers. Three days following that I turned in floor plans to the architect. Withing 3 weeks they were digging the basement and so it continued. I remember vividly the feelings of guidance, as if we were being led by the hand and shown exactly what to do next. We knew it was Heavenly Father placing us where he wanted us to be next. I spent most of Hyrum's pregnancy making decisions about the house and thinking that I was just so ready to leave that old house behind. I didn't even plan on looking back.
I have a confession: since moving here I have driven past the old house at least once a week, either the front road to see the front of the house or the new back road to see the back yard. During the first month after we moved I probably drove past it multiple times during each week. I kept telling myself that it was silly, that there wasn't anything there that I missed (and hoping that the new renters didn't think I was stalking them).
Tonight I realized why I have had trouble giving it up. It isn't the house, I know all that needed to be done to it. It isn't the location, I love living outside of town. As I drove past it tonight a flood of emotion slammed into me. I could smell the kitchen, I could hear the dishwasher running, I knew exactly how I would have tiptoed from the back door to the bedroom to avoid all the squeaks in the floor. I suddenly had a clear understanding that it wasn't the walls or neighbors that I was homesick for, it was my own cushion of memories that I felt I had left behind, as if they were still sitting in a box in the basement waiting for me to go get them.
During the 7 years that we lived there, our family grew in amazing ways. There were baptisms, blessings, teeth lost, braces, gymnastics, the dog, raspberries, mowing that plush green yard, planting and harvesting the garden every year, the wind blowing through the trees that we had planted, the cat, kids playing on the huge slide that I was sure would break someone's arm, Grandma Hawkins staying with us for a week, the big Fullmer family reunions that filled the yard and house, birthdays, sunburns that came as a result of hours spent in the inflatable swimming pool, 7 Christmas mornings, sicknesses that we survived, the struggle of starting our own business, 2 car accidents, multiple callings in the ward, 6 New Year's Eve parties, remodel projects, and the joy of receiving a long awaited answer to prayers that resulted in Nathan and Hyrum joining our family.
I remember the Sunday of Hyrum's birth this last March and the peace, joy and love that I felt hugging us from heaven. Then Monday came and I immediately started thinking of the move, packing, arranging help . . and I remember crying for the next 3 months. I see pictures from that time and I don't remember much of it. I feel cheated out of really living and relishing Hyrum's infancy. Part of me feels like I walked out on one of the most beautiful, defining moments of my life and I keep looking back trying to find it's memory, as if it has been deleted by our change in scenery.
The move came quickly and suddenly I was living in a strangers house. I experienced great guilt at living in such a new, big place, feeling like I was undeserving. And I remember crying. I was constantly raining emotion from physical pain, homesickness, guilt, loneliness, inadequacy and experiencing all of that in a home that I didn't feel was mine. For 2 months we tip-toed around this beautiful building waiting for the community to admire it. Then when the Parade of Homes was over we were finally able to start making memories of our own, in
our house.
Now I am doing much better. Having had major messes in the house, writing on the walls, arguments, silly moments, much laughter, friends over, sicknesses, a leaky pipe, a flooded toilet, hand prints on windows, gum in the carpet, fingerprints on the light switches and the holidays coming on it is finally starting to feel like ours. I have also truly learned that a better house doesn't make better memories. I hope that doesn't sound ungrateful, snobby, preachy or trite. I do appreciate that we have all the room we need (and then some), I enjoy having a garage, I am grateful for my roomy kitchen that accommodates all the extra teenagers so well, but I must admit that the memories we made in our cramped 70's home had nothing to do with the house and everything to do with each other, our family. No matter where we are it is the gospel of Jesus Christ, the laughter, sorrow, joy, sickness, sharing, caring, serving and love that make up our eternal family. Not the house.
I'm still a bit homesick. I miss that cushion of memories and I haven't figured out how to visit those memories without still feeling a loss . However, I am finding that as we continue to grow as a family in this house that this becomes home and I feel that at some point my memories will just all mesh together. Not part of this house or that house but just part of our family history.
Today for our own family Thanksgiving we are all packing around Kleenex boxes, dosing up on vitamins and cold medicine and doing whatever we want. We did enjoy a wonderful lunch complete with homemade rolls and homemade pies (kids special requests).
The our FHE for the night was all about Erika. Her favorite meal, stories of Erika, a triple chocolate cake, blowing the candles out which she claims is proof of no boyfriend (yeah right), and a silly evening together. 
