My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was in law school, and as it became clearer that he was a fall risk – and too stubborn to stop going up and down stairs – we decided that it was best to sell the house where me and my two brothers grew up.  The house was a Victorian in Wilmette, Illinois, and it was landmarked because it was so old – built in the 1850’s!  You could describe it as “charming” or a “tear-down”… it was beautiful from the outside and from the inside but then again you could also see the basement through the oak floor boards in the living room.  The high ceilings in the house meant we never needed air conditioning in the summer, and I remember how cozy it was to sit on a blanket on the radiators in the Winter.  We had a “don’t lock the front door” policy and although we were broken into on two occasions, more often than that we had my friends, my parents friends, or my brothers friends dropping in unannounced to hang out in the kitchen and play board games.  The house has so many memories for me and since my mom moved just a few blocks away, I pass it frequently and feel a pang of grief driving by and knowing I can’t go in.
SJ Chapman
When I transitioned from middle school to high school, my dad informed me that we would soon be moving from our house to a smaller apartment. The move was partly to allow my dad to be closer to work and dedicate more time to it. Needless to say this did not go smoothly… no one in the family other than my father was really supportive of leaving our home behind. For a while we just refused to move. My father moved to the apartment and the rest of the family refused to leave the house. But eventually we got to a point where we had to question what we were still hanging on to and why. Was it memories? Was it the status of a home owner? The neighborhood? The square footage? Till this day I’m not sure. Your family home just has a hold on you. But with time comes the ability to reflect. I still miss the old place. But every chapter has its end. Homes come and go, but the things that make homes special always travel with you.
Jeremiah Wright
Two of my childhood homes have been sold. Both are located in Wichita, Kansas where I lived from age 5-18. One I lived in from 1977 – 1979 (grade 2-4), the other from 1980-1984 (grade 3 – 8). 
Each time the home sold, I felt a sense of sadness. I thought of all the milestones I experienced in each home: sporting events, school music recitals, playdates, friends spending the night, birthday parties, getting my restricted learner’s permit, etc. It was a tough pill to swallow to realize how easily those important events could essentially be wiped out with a new owner. I definitely experienced an ache of nostalgia. The sale of the homes forced me to face the cold reality that memories are fleeting and that I should not hold on too tightly to them because they are so transitory by nature.  
But the positive from both of these experiences is that it instilled in me the importance of making the most of each life event and milestone and never taking our time here on earth for granted. 
Each time I visit my mother (who still lives in Wichita), I always drive by both of my childhood homes. Seeing the homes gives me a sense of comfort. I’m always struck by how little the homes have changed (externally, at least) compared to all of the life changes I’ve encountered over the past several decades. But seeing the homes in their current condition triggers fond memories from my youth and allows me to recognize the importance of a solid family foundation.
Paul B. Porvaznik