I feel similarly about my grandparents' old house. It had history, our family's history, even though they didn't build it or anything. I dream about it consistently, and far more often than I dream of the only other house I had close association with, the house I essentially grew up in.

When they died, the only thing I was heartbroken about was the house. They had been "gone" for a few years already, having Alzheimer's and various strokes, so there was no loss there, just a feeling of relief for them. But the house.... well, I wasn't in a place to be able to afford it, let alone move there and fix it up, so it had to be sold. And truthfully, I am glad that the folks that bought it are fixing it up. Last time I was in the area, I made my husband drive by it, just to see, and it looks wonderful with a new coat of paint and the trim all fixed up. I wanted to knock on the door and ask if I could look around, but I felt odd.

Still, there is part of me that will... oh, "mourn" sounds so silly in regards to a house, but I do mourn it, or rather, I mourn that I can no longer go there and enjoy the house. Even the hideous wall mural that my grandfather insisted on putting in the living room.

It's odd, but I just realized that I seem to connect far more strongly with places than with people. The friendships I've lost, I am sad about, but this house, that I never actually lived in, brings tears to my eyes. I wonder if that says something about me.

I agree with your last sentence completely. Even if I had gotten the house and redecorated it, it still would have stayed "the same" to me. Perhaps that's what I mourn.

It's good to have someplace that stays the same. Otherwise you just kind of feel like a wanderer. And the fabric and feeling of an old house that has much history is like a well worn pair of shoes--they fit your feet in all the right places. And frankly, older homes are often more well built than their newer counterparts--they have a logic about them that newer places can't even measure up to.

I dream about it consistently, and far more often than I dream of the only other house I had close association with, the house I essentially grew up in.

I dreamed about my grandparents' house a lot when it was unclear what would happen to it right after Grandma died. For a while it seemed like one of my cousins would buy it, and I was totally against that. He is, shall we say, not the tidiest of farmers. There are farms that look nice and clean and lovely, and then there are those ones that have a barn that hasn't been painted in 20 years and has half the roof caved in, and there's all sorts of junk and tractor parts sitting around in the yard. If my grandparents' farm had turned into a mess, I would have been LIVID.

Whenever I think too much about the house I mostly grew up in and how I'll never live there again and the people who live there now have changed everything in the house, I get teary-eyed. Actually I think that's pretty natural, but I think people don't talk about it much. It seems like I more often hear people say something like "I never want to see that house again" after they lived somewhere during a bad time in their lives. It makes me feel really thankful to have had so many powerfully good memories associated with a place I lived.

It's good to have someplace that stays the same. Otherwise you just kind of feel like a wanderer. And the fabric and feeling of an old house that has much history is like a well worn pair of shoes--they fit your feet in all the right places. And frankly, older homes are often more well built than their newer counterparts--they have a logic about them that newer places can't even measure up to.

I completely agree with everything you said there, and I think you said it beautifully.

I think is a wonderful idea that your Mom chose to repair the house than build a new one, with all the rich history and fond memories there I know she won't regret that (even if it does cost more).