I've heard tales of what happens when your parents sell your childhood home, especially when they move to a different town. You go "home" for the holidays and it's not "home" but someone else's town, where nobody knows your name and somehow your memories fall into the void of your mind alone.

In some ways, I'm lucky. My parents are leaving our house, but will still be in the same town, a mere 2 miles away from the house where I was raised. But it's still not my home, they're still leaving 30 years of memories behind in exchange for the smart thing--a one-story model house where they aren't prone to falling and will be able to maneuver easily for years to come.

But they're abandoning my childhood. What once was home is now someone else's house and I feel lost. Where are my memories now? They'll reside in my mind alone and any that might have been brought back with a trip home, triggered by something in my house, will never return. I'm forced to console myself with sentimental rememberings of what once was there. Even when I go there in 3 weeks, it's gone, most of the house packed and ready for a new adventure.

Guess I'd better get ready for the adventure too.