Mod. 5 - Sitting With A Broken Place

A Reason to Remember

We didn’t always look like this. In fact, for years children would play in the park across the street and their parents would survey us with envy because of our proximity to the park.

We were just like all the other homes in town. Carbon copies lined up next to each other with perfectly executed proportions having only slight aesthetic differences to tell us apart, almost like quintuplets.

We heard many languages here. German, Polish, Italian, and so many different versions of English. Who knew the same language could sound so many different ways?

We witnessed life’s seminal moments so many times that we wondered if the inhabitants knew that they were participating in a ritual? The repetition of these rites of passage embedded layers of memories deep inside of us creating a feeling like that of receiving a fresh coat of paint.

We’ve seen some of the ones who grew up here return years later and run their fingers along our walls or gaze intently at us while we see the moment in which our shared memories come flooding back to their senses. We’ve learned how precious that experience is and it has become our greatest responsibility to remain standing for those whose memories lead them back to us.

We share more than just our memories with our inhabitants. We also share one of life’s most pervasive cruelties; the negative effects of aging. Our proportions aren’t perfect anymore. We don’t hear different languages like we once did. And the ritual moments we witnessed and shared for so many years don’t happen here anymore.

We remain standing for those who might return, but we know that our time for holding this space is running out. We don’t share memories with them anymore. We just didn’t know when we were making those memories that we needed them to survive.