Empty house.

Growing up as an Army brat, moving all over the globe, "home" meant wherever my parents and sister were.  Countless houses, duplexes, apartments... but wherever that feeling was, I was home.

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Now, as I look at my empty house here in Georgia, preparing it for future tenants, I can't help but reflect on the four years I spent here.  True, one of those years I was in Iraq... but still.  This was the first place I really ever lived outside of my parents' house or a barracks room.  It's the first place I sort of furnished/decorated (I tried not to get too attached) and the house that I lived in before and after my divorce.

I've always called my parents' house in Indiana 'home', but I called this house my 'home' too.  Even though I hated that it was too big for me and a pain to clean, or that things would need expensive repairs on occasion, or that it was a bit too far from good shopping or restaurants.  It didn't really feel like 'home' to me after I started living there alone... it felt like a temporary space with semi-empty rooms I never even used.  But now, as I prepare to leave it... it's a surreal and semi-sad feeling.  I'm more than excited to move on, but there's just a strange feeling in my stomach, almost a nervousness, as I prepare to turn over the keys.

But then again, that monthly mortgage payment will continue to keep me connected to the place, right?  Sigh...