number eight

my parents built house number eight over twenty one years ago.  we did not just move into the house, it was built, from the ground up, for the jordans.  each bedroom was for a jordan kid, the guest room was built with specific guests in mind, each room was thought out and planned for our family.  and it was, and is, a beautiful house.

it sits up high on a bluff that overlooks the cascade mountains, highlighted by a close up of rainier, to the east, and the olympic mountains to the west.  and it is surrounded on most sides by water, an inlet of the pacific ocean.  the view is breathtaking and awe-inspiring. and it feels like most of my life has happened in that house.  

it was the place where i lived before i had any idea what evil was at work in the world.  the only trouble i knew about was when you roller bladed down the hill when you were not supposed to, and you ended up in a thorn bush.  or you tried to adopt a stray rottewiler without telling your parents.  i remember the lazy sunny summer lanes where i spent countless hours with siblings, cousins, and friends, picking blackberries and going on adventures. the secret fort that we protected with all valiancy and honor from any other neighborhood kids. it was our place.  
  
i moved out when i was 18, which was a long time ago, but still, every christmas, summer breaks...it was always home.  and it was always ours.  and it was always the portal through which we reached back in time to our past and our friendships that have been around as long as we can remember.  

and that view from our porch was always there, with that mountain, as a respite, when i needed it. 

and as of last monday, i am pretty sure i will never be in number eight again.  

she is on the market and i will not likely be back in washington before she sells and is transferred to a new family who will have no idea how special each nook and cranny is. they won't know that i got engaged there.  they wont know that my sister and her husband sparked their friendship there.  they wont know that the hammerhead is where my brother and his friends played every sport imaginable. they wont know about any of it. and it won't matter to them.

and honestly i have been mourning the loss as if someone had died.  it feels that way to me. it feels like i will never be able to access so many moments that have made up so much of my life.  and im just sad.

maybe its dramatic, maybe its silly.  but that's it.

i may very well right more posts about it as the months go on and we actually sell the house. but for now ill just share my version of goodnigt moon, which came slowly about as i walked from room to room saying goodbye.  

goodbye number eight, where the jordans have dwelt
where sorrow and joy and life were all felt

goodbye to the places where we often stood
goodbye to our neighbors, and our neighborhood

goodbye to the games we played on and on
goodbye to the years, that now have all gone

goodbye ceilings where our laughter arose
goodbye warmth that we felt to our toes

goodbye club house, secret and hidden
goodbye driveway, by bicycles ridden

goodbye hallways where christmas lights glowed
goodbye corners where secrets were told

goodbye long summer days, so warm and so lazy
goodbye rainy cold winters that drove us all crazy

goodbye blackberry bushes so wild and sweet
goodbye view of rainier that nothing can beat

goodbye backyard where tents were pitched
goodbye staircase where backpacks were ditched

goodbye to those parties where the house was so full
of people who always at our hearts will pull

goodbye floor where his knee was bent
where i said yes, and off we went

goodbye memories made with each hour
goodbye ever tree, goodbye every flower

and now to the mountain, the water, and the sky
and to dear number eight, i bid you goodbye.