She walked in my open house at 2 p.m. today. Her daughter explained that they weren't buyers, but were reminiscing about the old neighborhood and decided to drive by. They were delighted to see the house was open.
"This was my first home," her mother said. "We bought it before we were married. We sold it in 1968, I think. I had my 5th child and it just wasn't big enough. The house looks the same. The fireplace, the dining room with the large window."
"Remember?" she said, as her daughter's eyes welled with tears.
"Remember? her mother said, room after room of memories.
"Remember," her daughter said. "You took all of our pictures reflected in this mirror of the door, every year."
So, so many years ago. She could remember every detail about this house, her first home, where she had all of her children, and she told me again how she had her 5th child and the house was too small and she told me again after looking at each room. Though she didn't remember she told me about her life in that home, I would listen to it again in every room and I would enjoy watching them in the moment that they were remembering, every room in that home, where she had her 5 children...