OPINION: Chris Kelly Opinion: Can't go home again

Dec. 25—"If I could walk around, I swear I'll leave/ Won't take nothin' but a memory...

From "The House That Built Me," by Miranda Lambert

I won't be home for Christmas.

Chrissy and I will drive back to the Pittsburgh area to see family and friends and visit a few old haunts, but the home I knew for my first half-century of Christmases is filled with strangers this year.

They act like they own the place. Because they do. Last year, my brother and I sold the house that built us. For a while after Mom passed, we rented the one-story ranch to in-laws. When they moved on to a place of their own, we put it on the market.

This will be our fourth Christmas without Mom; our 18th without Dad. Now the house is gone, too.

We'll bunk with my kid brother, the Republican public school teacher. I'm 55, he's 53. When we're together, we're 10 and 9 1/2 . Our interaction mainly consists of mostly good-natured name-calling, sports, graphic discussion of age-related bodily changes and reminiscing about the big backyard we called "Whitey Jones Stadium" — named after a beloved beagle whose contributions to the playing surface added an extra level of adventure to backyard tackle football.

Jeff and Nancy, my saintly sister-in-law, have a big backyard, too. It goes with a big house that's cheaper than a hotel and has more rooms. Nancy is a pharmacist at a downtown hospital and a devoted mother to our amazing teenage nieces and goddaughters, Meghan and Elena. Chrissy and I chose not to have kids in part because we doubted ours would ever be able to compete with these two Amazons.

Before we could sell Mom and Dad's house, we had to clean it out. I suggested an estate sale, which was easy for me to say from 350 miles away. Jeff and Nancy did the heavy lifting of caring for Mom and getting her affairs in order. They wanted to be done and I didn't blame them.

Jeff and Nancy's daughters are enrolled in every extracurricular activity imaginable. Chrissy and I have cats who never leave the house and plenty of free time on weekends. We occasionally fill it by going to estate sales. We love old stuff and Chrissy has a hobby/side hustle selling vintage clothes on Poshmark. It's got something to do with the internet. I deliver packages to the post office and don't ask questions.

Most of the sales we show up for are at houses the size of Jeff and Nancy's or larger. Chrissy makes a beeline for the closets and I wander and wonder. Christmas always comes to mind.

I wonder where the tree went. In the foyer? The great room? In the family room downstairs? Was there more than one? I stand on high landings and imagine the excitement of kids rushing down the staircase to tear open presents, hear clattering stacks of party plates being pulled from kitchen cupboards, imagine the boxes of Shiny Brite ornaments when they were new, before they disappeared under the arm of a bargain hunter. Before it was time to go.

As I walk around a house, I am reminded that it was once a home. People lived here. Loved here. Laughed here. Soon, new people will, too. Big or small, no house hosts just one story.

We kept what we could from our family homestead and pitched the rest — two Dumpsters' worth. As I walked around the empty halls and rooms, I couldn't imagine it was for the last time. Surely I'd be back again. We all would. This is home.

Not anymore. The house that built me is now an old haunt I can no longer visit, but in my mind, I can still wander and wonder. I can see the tree and Mom's creche under it, relive the rush of tearing open presents with Whitey barking in the background and revel in the love and laughter of family and friends who moved on when it was time to go.

I wonder where the strangers put the tree. Do they have one? More than one? What about kids? Pets? Party plates? I wonder whether they're happy there. I wonder how often they use the fireplace or hang a wreath from the hidden hook above the mantle. I wonder what they think of that big backyard.

Most of all, I wonder where the time went.

CHRIS KELLY, the Times-Tribune columnist, and the staff and families of Times-Shamrock Communications wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Read his award-winning blog at timestribuneblogs.com/Kelly.

Contact the writer:

kellysworld@timesshamrock.com; @cjkink on Twitter; Chris Kelly, The Times-Tribune on Facebook