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So this past weekend I was in Fort McMurray for work - well I worked on Friday and then had Saturday to just hang out. When I initially scheduled my trip up 2 months ago I figured that my parents would still be here and that things would be generally status quo. However, over the course of the 2 months I learned that they were actually going to have moved to Edmonton and that only my dad would still be in Fort McMurray. And then last week I learned that neither of them would be here, and that new people would be staying in their house. In every scenario I was still welcome to stay and they indicated that they would still have some furniture so it wouldn't be empty.

But it was.

When I came in Thursday night it was dark and I didn't explore. I went right into the room where I normally stay (the guest room/Char's room/Scott's room - it was Scott's room when I lived here and though no one else remembers it this way, that's how I remember). The heat wasn't working upstairs so I just snuggled into the bed and moved onto Friday.

On Friday I worked and visited friends and generally was out. But when I came home, there was a different truck in the garage - which was weird, but not much.

But today, Saturday, I've had time in this house. I've had moments to explore and to feel what each room feels like now. It's strange because enough of the furniture is still here to make it recognizable, but not enough for it to feel fully settled. I looked at the rooms that had been renovated for the first time. I tried out the ridiculous waterfall tap that the realator insisted they install. I walked through each space and felt a tangible change as my brain realized that the rooms are no longer familiar.

Then I stood in my room. The room that has been Scott's for the last 10 years, but really is my room. Thankfully never repainted and still the bright yellow I chose. Still displaying the yellow drapes I made. I stood in there and remembered the different furniture arrangements I had tried. Recalling the time Charlotte and I shared the room as an experiment in sisterhood. Remembering which grades I had my bed in each corner. Looking out the window and remembering the sneak-outs and Cally sitting up on the sill. Examining the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling that I carefully arranged when the room was first painted blue with clouds. And grateful that recently I was able to sleep in this room with David (a boy in my room!!!) only for him to point out the particularly phallic imagery in my Pisces constellation. Thankful that I had a chance to make one more memory in the space.

And then I wondered what sort of room the Bean would have. Where would she make her memories? Would we get to stay in a house for 15 years so that she can make all those memories in one space? Will she move on from her room, replaced by a sibling, but still think that it's hers? It's interesting to think that how I felt today, would maybe be how the Bean feels in the future.

I gave her a pat in my stomach and left. Thanking the space for being what it was and imprinting the memories that will no longer have a physical reminder. And I've realized that because of my timing in the family, that I have memories of this place that no one else has. I've actually spent less time here than everyone but Charlotte, but it's my home. When I think of the place that grew up - it is this place.

I hope for my parents that next time I'm here the house isn't ours any more. That some new family moves in and makes it theirs. A family that can appreciate the secret passage in the basement; who will measure their growth by how much they have to duck through the little doorway. It's always conflicting to say goodbye even when you know it's time.

But when I get back to Edmonton, David and I will continue to search and we'll find the room that our Bean hopefully gets to love and maybe one day remembers.