The feeling of running away and escaping a situation may seem like a cowardly thing to do, but sometimes it’s the only thing that can and should be done. The change of scenery is always a positive thing. It helps us move on, forget, and even if it doesn’t, it’s still a good way to distract ourselves, giving us time to figure things out.
Going back to Freiburg was different this time because I wasn’t staying with my parents but with Frieda instead. She was kind enough to offer me one of her sons’ bedroom. I don’t want my parents to know I’m here, so I made her promise not to say anything. I’m still not over what they did to me a couple of years ago. It would’ve been nice to come back and stay in my childhood home just for old times’ sake, but even that was impossible due to the fact they sold it and used some of the money to buy a smaller house outside the area.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of a car engine running. I walked to the bedroom window and saw two parents and their teenage girl load bags and luggage inside the trunk of their car. They were the new owners. I watched them very closely and tried to imagine what kind of people they were and where they were going. Soon, they were gone, and I just didn’t know how to feel about a new family living in the place I used to call my home. Part of my heart broke thinking that the soul of the space that has been crafted over the years spent in that house now ceased to exist. That was the home I grew up in. Knowing that the memories that I tried so hard to immortalize were suddenly gone made my heart strings sever.
Being forced to leave a treasured home behind, a place that I thought my parents would keep and turn into my legacy left a scar that I’m now trying to heal and get rid of. I never thought it was possible to mourn or grieve the loss of a home before. Now, I do.