An empty house is a sad thing.

My friend's wife came home this weekend to clear out all of their stuff from the house. We worked for hours each day with some help from some of her friends and got two moving pods filled. All that remains are some couches in the living room, a chair on the kitchen and the box springs and mattress on the floor in the master bedroom; the remainder of the house is bare except for my few belongings.

I had always held out hope that they were going to return to town after she was done with her traveling job. Even the presence of the gallows-shaped "For Sale" sign did not deter my hope that they would give up on selling the house and come back; that my friends would stay. But there is talk of the short sale and plans beyond that; either way they want to "get out from under this house".

I lived in the house I grew up in until I married at 26. I was only forced to move from there because my mother put it up for sale with, apparently, no intention of passing it down. I moved from my home of Rhode Island only because situations forced me to and would still be there if I had my druthers.

I can not imagine people who are constantly moving. Who have had dozens of houses. I have always wanted a HOME. I even walk this house and imagine all the memories that were built here; children, parties, holidays and more. When I left my house for the last time I hid a little note in a secret little cranny wishing those who followed before me would live up to the spirit of that home that had seen me through childhood. Heck, I'm even nostalgic, at times, for the trailer I lived in for 5 years before moving here.

I still want that home someday. Not sure if I'll get it, but I can dream.