Inheriting Someone Else's Story

That's what it feels like.

We arrived (Amos and I) to 908 SE 35th Ave, Portland, Oregon around 9pm. After a long, long day of driving (13 hours), I was a little emotionally drained.

It'd been a couple months since I had last seen this place. Rooms were shaped a little different than I remembered. Paint colors shifted, the floor was dirtier, fixtures were gold-colored? What? My mind had glazed over such things.

Walking around this evening, I had questions for the previous owners/tenants (whom I may never get the chance to speak to) about why they chose to put this light switch here instead of there. Why there's Pergo on top of hard wood in one of the closets? What about the caulking in the master bath...is it reliable? And the many small decisions they made that just "worked" for their life.

We are inheriting their story, their idiosyncracies. What a strange thing to realize.

I am grateful that I am here. I do miss my wife and son. I feel a tad overwhelmed at what work needs to be done, but it will come along. Deep breath. Going to sleep. Tomorrow I'll be greeted by good friends. G'night.