When Things Change, They're Just Not The Same

 Hello my friends...

I know we are halfway through the week, but I'm just now getting around to writing my thoughts about the weekend.

Friday David and I left for a trip down south to see my mom. I didn't realize it, but it had been three years since I had been to her house. Don't worry...I've seen her on several other occasions at various places, but I had not made the trip to her house, in 3 years. 

We had a great visit with my mom and enjoyed just spending time at home with her, as well as a day out on Saturday. 

We drove to a nearby town and did some shopping and took her to lunch at her favorite - Texas Roadhouse - for a birthday dinner. Her birthday is coming up and she will be 83. Thankfully she is still going like she's 70! She has a full calendar with friends and her sister, who lives just down the road from her and they spend lots of time together. 

David and I helped her with a few projects while we were there and otherwise, we just enjoyed talking and watching tv together. It was a great visit. 

On Sunday we left for a few hours to visit my youngest sister, Mandy. But on the way, we drove through the little town where I was born...Sinton. Sinton is a small town surrounded by cotton fields and cattle. It's where my mom and dad grew up, where my grandparents raised 9 kids and where I have the best memories of my childhood, even though I only lived there part time. But that's a story for another day.

My grandparents built this house in 1970

On Sunday, I wanted to drive past the old house where my dad and stepmom lived for years and years. It was originally built by my grandfather when I was just 4 or 5 years old. My grandparents lived there until they passed away and then my dad and Ruby lived there and raised my 3 sisters there. The house has been a piece of my life forever, it seems. This was the house that held the coffee can of colors, that I wrote about a few weeks ago. 

When my dad and Ruby passed away (2012 and 2015), the house was cleaned out, things were sold and given away and eventually a relative bought the house and we never went inside again. But for years it still looked the same. 

Until now.

Sunday when we drove by the house, it was unrecognizable. Gone were the white walls that needed to be painted for as long as I could remember. They had been covered with green siding and the house did not look like its old self. 

The aluminum gate that stood at the end of the driveway for so long, was falling apart and nothing looked the same. 

And as we slowed down to get a good look, I told David that this would be the last time I ever wanted to drive by. I no longer needed to see the old house. When things change, they're just not the same. 

We went on to visit my sister and finished up our stay with my mom on Monday and made the long trip back home. But both of us felt a sadness that we were trying to process, but couldn't quite explain. 

Tuesday, David went back to work and I got busy catching up on laundry, placing a grocery order, bills and all the things since being gone and then I sat down to read my Bible for a bit. And that's when it hit me...sadness.

The sadness and finality of things changing. Things that will never be the same. Not just the old house, but even the feel of the little town feels different now that my dad and Ruby are gone. And I realized...there's no reason to ever go back, really. I have my memories, for which I am very grateful, but nothing is the same and without the people, it's just a place on the map. 

This little town where my dad took me to the "dime store" and the old park. The place where we went every Saturday morning for a donut. Where my grandmother played the piano for me. Where we climbed in the old, oak tree, had easter egg hunts, popped fireworks and made homemade ice cream on the back porch. The memories are still so vivid, but the places are all gone. 

This was the old store where my dad bought me my first bicycle. 

As I was reading my Bible that morning and thinking back on all of this, I had a good cry. You know the cry that builds until you finally hit that one thing that brings it on? Well, that happened.  And it felt good to have a cry for a bit and really process that grief that's been there all along. It might sound silly to grieve over a little town, but it's really more about the loss of the people and the things that will never be again. 

Time marches on and we have to let go of what used to be. Little towns grow and change and so do we. We move to new locations, make new memories, raise families of our own, but we leave behind our roots; the things that ground us, shaped us and stay with us until the end. 

Such is the little town of Sinton, Texas. Until we meet again...if we ever do. I'm just not sure. 

Thanks for reading my story, my friends.

Until Next Time...

Blessings!