My mom’s parents divorced when my mother was about three months old. A few years later, they both remarried and my mom, along with her brother, gained one half sister and seven stepbrothers and sisters. Life became chaotic for her, to say the least. As she went back and forth from each parent’s house and lived with different siblings each week, it became difficult for my mom to discern which home was really hers and which family she belonged to.
There was so much moving around that it felt as if she didn’t have any place to call home. This became clear to my grandma, my mom’s step-mom, and she wanted to find a place for her children to feel equally a part of. She and my grandfather bought a house in New Milford, Connecticut. This house became a sanctuary for my mom and her siblings. It was a place that each of them knew equally and it quickly became one of the only constants in my mom’s life. Little did she know, it would play a similar role with the next generation.
The house was on top of a small hill. The front yard was lush and green with a blue swingset and mustard yellow slide. A stone pathway cut through the grass leading to the house. The house was a dark brown wood in desperate need of repair. The appearance would give off the illusion that it was a quiet, restful house, yet the moment you stepped in the door it became clear that this was incorrect. The front door led to the living room where the adults were sprawled out around the white and blue floral couches that surrounded the large stone fireplace. Without missing a beat, my grandma came to greet each of her grandchildren the same way. “Hey there, tootsie!” she would scream as she wrapped her arms around us and gave us a kiss on the cheek. I could feel the warmth from the fireplace and the comfort and love that seemed to radiate from each family member’s embrace and conversation.
The other younger cousins and I would spend hours in the playroom in the back of the house next to my grandparents’ bedroom. There was everything a kid could want there. The shelves that lined each wall held every board game you could imagine, Legos, and boxes and boxes of Lincoln Logs. We would play and catch up on each other’s lives while sitting on top of the pool table in the middle of the room. It would usually be the first time in weeks that we all saw each other, but somehow when we were in that house it just seemed as if time had never passed.
My favorite part of this house was what we called the “cousins club.” Right above the dining room, there was an old metal spiral staircase that led every child in the family into the most magical room of the house. The loud creaks that accompanied each step on the staircase would warn us when any unwanted adults were intruding on our special spot. Once we ascended the staircase, we kids had our own world. The walls were lined with drawings and paintings that each of us had created throughout the years. To fit everyone for sleeping, several mattresses lay on the ground, completely covering the rug. At times eleven cousins crammed into this tiny clubhouse. At night we would curl up together, and the cousins my age and I would listen to the older kids tell us stories and stay up giggling until all hours of the night.
In the morning, when one kid woke up that meant that everyone did. We would leap across the sleeping kids on the floor and run downstairs to get ready for the morning. I would slip into my bathing suit and make my way onto the porch out back and descend down the long pebble covered staircase leading to the pond. The pond was small and covered in lily pads. I would sit and watch the reflection of the clouds in the water and the water bugs elegantly gliding across the glassy water. We would grab the butterfly nets from the shed and creep up on the frogs that perched on the rocks near the shore of the water, exclaiming in delight each time one of us was able to catch a new friend for the morning. The loud conversation near the pond and from the porch made me feel like I was home. It became clear to me why this place had been so special to my mom during her childhood. This house helped me to love the idea of family; it was the glue in my relationships with my cousins.
Three years ago, my grandma and grandpa decided to sell the house. There were constantly too many repairs to be made and it was too expensive once my grandpa was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. My grandma still says today that it was one of the hardest decisions she has ever had to make. My grandparents succeeded in their ultimate wish to create a place where everyone could feel welcome and where, despite our crazy family, we could come together and be assured we all belonged. We have made it a priority to continue our family traditions in different locations now because nobody ever wants to lose that feeling of family that the New Milford house seemed to bring to us, and it has become clear that we never will.