If you are middle aged, chances are you have already experienced saying goodbye to the house you grew up in. Often as in the case of my family, one parent passes away and the other (after 50 years) decides to downsize, move to an apartment and leave the ghosts behind. But you never really leave those ghosts behind because the house you grew up in will always be the house you grew up in. The walls have memories. The shadows that have been casted upon them remain although they change shape over time. Ask anyone which rooms hold the most memories and they will probably say “my bedroom and the kitchen.” Your bedroom kept your secrets, the dreams of your first crush, first kiss, the private telephone conversations that lasted for hours, the homework left stale because you decided watching TV or staring out the window in oblivion, was a better use of your time, the sleepovers, the first boyfriend/girlfriend who shared your bed, skin to skin, a feeling like no other. ...