1518 10th Ave W

One of the reasons that we went back to Williston was to say goodbye to my beloved house. My parents are moving.

I grew up living in the same house until I moved away to college. My dad and his dad built most of this two-story house back in ’78. They finished the basement sometime in the '80s. One of my very first memories was making sure not to fall down the steps onto the concrete. And I vaguely recall getting to color on the sheetrock too.

I know the sounds of my house. I know the exact spot in the hallway where the floor squeaks. I can hear the wind slamming shut the door to the garage. I can hear my mom sewing in the laundry room listening to NPR. I can hear the sound of bath toys splashing against the tub. I can hear the sprinkler system running in the summer night. I can hear the dirty laundry going down the laundry chute.

I know every nook and cranny of my house. I have memories engrained into much of it. I recall family gatherings and friend sleepovers, holidays and celebrations, all taking place in our home. I can see the milestone moments, captured in photos, taken on our front steps. I can feel the warmth of the fireplace every fall combined with the smell of mom baking something with the apples we picked from our tree. I can recall my dad coming home from work, tossing his ivy cap on the banister and us ending up with a hat tossing contest. And I remember exploring (nay, snooping) around the house, finding treasures in the walk-in closet or behind the bar or in the china cupboard.

First Day of School - check out the stretch pants!

As a child, one of the best things about my house was the playhouse. My dad built it to look like a mini version of the house. We spent hours and hours playing in the playhouse, creating a world just our own. It was something that made our house, and us, special. This may be the biggest thing I’m grieving about the move – not getting to see my kids play inside my playhouse.

Helping Dad paint the playhouse

Saying goodbye to the playhouse, wishing Eli could know all the fun contained in its walls.

My mom has always lived in a way that her house is an extension of who she is. This house has always been clean, immaculate actually. And beautiful. Even though mom would complain about the lack of character in the structure (straight walls), she made it look different every season when she would rearrange furniture and décor. She made it homey and warm and often looking like something straight out of a magazine. And let's be honest, it probably helped that my dad is a painter and we would all get to redecorate our rooms every few years.

Eli laying on the living room floor, trying not to poop on the white carpet

On top of the cleanliness factor, whoever buys our house is also getting a very well maintained home. My dad is talented. The front steps face the other way now, after my dad built a new entrance. The kitchen doesn’t look much like it did when I lived there since he remodeled the whole thing a few years ago. And he added a huge sunroom, so that took away the deck I remember. He did a good job, the changes fit flawlessly in the house. And really, there is so much of him in this house.

And I must talk about The Lawn. Oh please, please don’t let whoever buys this house ruin the grass. It really is the nicest lawn on the block. The next door neighbors used to joke about Mr. Tysse out mowing his grass again. After being in South Carolina where they don’t make dirt and grass like they do there, I often dream of rolling around in my dad's grass. We spent a lot of time in the backyard throughout the years, with roses, gardens, and those racing games where I would always win the 5-year-old division race, and Amber the 10 (because we both must always win).

Running through the sprinkler was a big deal back for me back then (above) and now for my niece Ali (below):

My sister and I moved on from 1518 years ago (and that's a good thing ... it wouldn't be good if we still lived there!). But my dad, my dad is a home body. I didn’t realize that until a few years ago. But he loves northwest North Dakota. He likes familiar. He likes that feeling of being home.

It’s no surprise, then, that this transition is hard on him. And we all know he is a huge softy. A big emotional wreck when it comes to saying goodbye, accepting change, or dealing with the uncomfortable. My dad will never drive by the house once it’s sold. He just can’t. It’s the way he was wired. He needs to be able to say goodbye, grieve, and then move on. 1518 is best as a memory for him. I hope that he doesn’t know whoever buys the house because he will never be able to come visit.

Admittedly, I was pretty angry when it was first mentioned, the selling of 1518. Honestly I was completely selfish. I didn’t want my house to not be my house anymore. Then I realized how blessed we are to say goodbye out of choice versus a flood or fire destroying it. And more importantly, after awhile I really understood that it was time for my parents to move on. It was time to say goodbye to Williston and this house. It was a perfect time to transition: they had a new exciting chapter ahead in two new exciting places. And they still do, but not like we had initially thought... now it’s much more complicated and messy. Sigh.

Regardless, our time on earth is temporary. Everyone, every single person, on earth dies and doesn’t take one thing with them. So a house is just a container for us and our stuff. That’s a good perspective when getting too attached. Yet while we are here on earth, it sure is nice to have a house that you can reflect yourself into, if you are into that sort of thing, and call it home.

1518 | April 1979 (yes, April)

1518 | July 2011

Since it was the only house I knew, I have a lot of memories and a deep connection to this place. And I'd venture to say since 1518 only knew Lloyd, Sherry, Amber and Heather, I think it will miss us too.

-Heather