nostalgia and pain and memories past.

this week i had nostalgia hit me really hard. i've been thinking a lot about my "early" years, before we moved to texas. i was eight when we moved, and i was painfully shy, and i only had two friends (true story).
we had been talking about maryland and possibly flying me and my twin brother back up north, and later that night, it hit me. i hadn't been to my state of birth in years, maybe five. but that night, i could see my favorite place in the whole world. a place i know better than my home here in texas, or my old house back east.

i was back at my pop pop's house and i could see everything in vivid detail. the hard wooden stairs to the right, his office with the little glass figures and american eagle and big desk to the left, the kitchen straight ahead. the sitting room was right around the corner, with a soft, fluffy carpet, and a little table with a chess board printed on top and a locked drawer that i always had fun playing with. if you continued ahead, you would come upon the dining room, which we rarely ever ate in. it's kind of dark, and has a table with room for six. to the left, there's an entrance to the kitchen, which is light and airy and full of sweet things. then there's a large t.v. and a couch and a lounge chair (which is everyone's favorite chair). walk out the french doors to the side and you're outside on a wooden deck, surrounded by tall trees. there's some outdoor furniture and a grill, i believe.
upstairs, there are four rooms and one bathroom. there is a little playroom all of the cousins used to play in all the time. we had a jar of smurf toys, and a little play shopping cart. across the hall there is a bedroom, then next to that one is another bedroom, with a lone, queen-sized bed and light purple sheets. it's my favorite room, outside of pop pop's office. then there's the master-bedroom, which is huge, and full of stuffed animals and pictures.
if you go back down the stairs, and just before you enter the kitchen, and on your right, there's a door that leads to the basement. it's a little chilly and damp, and there are boxes piled high every where, full of junk and treasures and stories.
outside the red front door, you'll see other houses that hold other stories of many kinds from various people all throughout time. my pop pop's house sits on a little hill, and i remember running down the driveway, trying not fall flat on my face.
this is my favorite place in the whole wide world. really. truly. it is.
i haven't been inside that house in who-knows-how-long, but it's still my favorite.

all these images and more flooded my brain that night. i cried. because i miss that house, i miss the light on the walls, i miss the smell of sweet, sugary things in the kitchen, i miss the memories i made. i miss it all.
sometimes, it feels like a little eight-year-old girl also named grace found her way inside my brain and replaced my first eight years with her eight years and it makes me sad. i was so young when we left, and i thought that we would always live up north and we would never leave and so i took everything for granted. i makes me sad.

sometimes, nostalgia hurts, and it makes you cry. but it helps me remember my vow to life: to remember every little detail and enjoy my crazy/boring/simple/awkward/little life. who knows what might happen next. pain is here to remind us we're growing. and sometimes we just don't want to accept that, but at some point in time, we must. it's a must thing, pain is. pain demands to be felt.
nostalgia is a sad, happy, weird, good thing and i think it's a reminder from God that we're still alive and breathing and feeling and hurting and we're still here to make more memories. i just have to remember to remind myself about this reminder.
xx, gracie