I find myself feeling incredibly sad moving out of the first home my wife and I bought almost a decade ago, where our kids were born and lived for the first 6 years of their lives. We are moving to a slightly bigger house on a much bigger lot in a better neighborhood, with a bigger yard more conducive to playing. Our old lot was all built out with narrow alleys and spaces and a garage that took up the entire back of the lot. We had bought mainly for the nice interior layout and didn't give much thought to the yard space, but I realize now it just didn't give off a good vibe and so I never went outside much. At the new place, the interior layout is still very nice and more spacious, but I also find myself going out to the yard a lot more and enjoying it. Everything about the new place is objectively better, yet when I walk through the old place, I get very sad.
I never really grasped what the phrase "the walls speak to me" meant until now. When I walk into my new home, my family is there and my kids are loud, but the walls are dead silent. The walls of the old home, however, speak volumes to me, even when all our belongings are gone and only an empty shell remains. They tell me about me about the early days we moved in as an engaged couple and then newlyweds. They tell me about the time we spent building a nursery and the pre-dawn trip to the hospital as labor commenced. They speak to me about the day I first carried in twin newborns and the multitudes of nights I spent holding them as babies, infants and toddlers. About the bad years I was in a depression over work matters. The home maintenance mishaps and the triumphs from my amateur garage woodshop. The joyous birthday and holiday celebrations held.
I know the new walls will start speaking to me with time, but the old walls are louder than I ever thought they could be and I am listening to everything they have to say as I ready the house for another family that my dear old friends will speak to down the road.