The house that built me…

“I thought if I could touch this place or feel it this brokenness inside me might start healing.”

I watched my girls today play in our Nanny’s floor for the last time. And as I watched them, I realized that they won’t have memories of playing in Nanny’s floor like I did. The house that built me will not physically be the house that builds them.


“Out here it’s like I’m someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself if I could just come in I swear I’ll leave.”

The foundation that she helped build in me; those stubborn ways in which i’m just like her, and an unshakable faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, carries much farther than those four walls. My girls might not remember her… but they will never not know her. Because that, I carry with me.


“Won’t take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.”

I took a few physical memories today; her cookie jar, the tater box my grandpa made, Other Mamas cedar chest, and the girls each a tea set…

I thought going in her house, seeing the places where we had long talks, smelling that old familiar smell, touching her bed…I thought it would heal some of this brokenness.

She talked about this day. The day that we would come and grab some memories to put into our houses. She talked about the things she had to offer and the things that were of value.

And all of these things are now in the house that will build my girls… but i’m still broken.

When does it go away? When do you stop habitually reminding yourself that today is Monday, Wednesday, or Friday and that the nursing home will facetime at 1? When will Scarlett stop asking where she is? It scares me that there could be a day that we feel her absence less, yet feeling her absence has left us all so broken.

I miss her. And I’m even going to miss that house. Because it’s The house that helped build me.

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