I am a Jersey girl. I was born and raised on the Jersey shore. While my siblings moved out of state and out of the country, I always stayed within 20 minutes of my childhood home. I dreamed of raising my kids in the same house that I grew up in. It was not a huge house. A 4 bedroom colonial, on a nice piece of land. I learned to walk and talk there. My own 3 children took their first steps and said their first words there as well. I always knew that there would be a time that my parents would retire and move, but I always thought that the house would stay in the family. I did the math and I explained that if they would let me and my family move into the home, I could pay the taxes and the other expenses so that they would not have to pay anything to keep the house. It would actually cost me a little less every month than I would be paying for my little 2 bedroom apartment. They always said they had to sell the house and gave me one excuse after another but never in my wildest dreams did I actually believe they would put it on the market.
The house where while climbing trees with my sister the back of my jacket got caught on a branch and instead of her helping me down, she ran inside, got her camera and took a picture of me hanging. The house I escaped to after I finally was able to admit that I was in an abusive relationship. The house where my son was welcomed into the Jewish community at 8 days old when he was circumcised.
I was told today that the house is going on the market on Friday. As in 3 days from now. The realtor believes that the house will be sold before the next school year.
There will be no more summers splashing in a little pool in the backyard. There will be no more holiday meals in the cozy dining room with my dad explaining to the kids about all the Jewish traditions I grew up with. There will be no more building train tracks in the living room when my dad actually looks relaxed. There will be no more baking Chanukah cookies in the kitchen.
Today, when my dad told me that my biggest nightmare was about to be a reality, I had to get out of the house. I could not bare the pain that I was feeling all over my body. I did not want them to hear the tears in my voice or see the tears in my eyes. Even as I am writing this I am crying. I love that house. It is perfect to raise a family. All of my childhood memories are written in those walls. All of my dreams, and my sorrows were discovered there. I was and am devestated. My childhood home will now be for sale to the highest bidder.