Reclaiming memories

When we first found out that Miguel had been cast as Hamilton and our family would be moving to Chicago we assumed it would be for one year only. For starters, the contract was only for one year but beyond that, Miguel had never been in a show for longer than a year. Hell, he’d never been in a show that was open for longer than a year. Shows like Hamilton, Wicked, Lion King – are rare. You could get rave reviews and be forced to close a month later (ahem, Swept Away).

By Spring of 2016 when Miguel was originally cast in Hamilton, it was pretty clear the show was going to be on Broadway for a while. Still, long-term, sit-down productions (not tours) outside of New York City are even more rare than a successful show in New York City. So, we rented an apartment in Chicago and rented out our house in Maplewood, NJ telling our friends we’d be back soon.

Four years later we had made ourselves quite cozy in our corner of Chicago. Though, as much as we loved it, I think we always knew we would have to move back East someday. Miguel and I would talk about the different renovations we would do to our Maplewood home now that we finally had the money to pay for them. Like make it accessible for Adelaide, add a second bathroom, and a deck.

But when it came time to move back, Adelaide had only recently died and the thought of managing a major home renovation was overwhelming. Even more so, I couldn’t imagine going back to the house we had lived in as a family of four but would return to as three. I told Miguel we needed to buy a new house and no questions ask, like the amazing husband he is, he agreed.

Our current house is only a mile down the road from our first family home and on a street that I pass or drive down a couple times a month. Each time, I catch myself holding my breath, like I would when my mom or dad would drive by a graveyard when I was younger. But Adelaide didn’t die there. In fact Adelaide had some of her healthiest months in that house.

Only once since we moved back to New Jersey have I stepped inside it. Let’s just say it didn’t go well and I never returned. Then last year Miguel asked me to pick up mail our renters had left for us on the front stoop for us and I thought I was going to have a heart attack just going up the front steps. I snagged the package of mail and ran back to the car as if the house was haunted.

In contrast when I’m visiting Chicago and drive by the condo in which Adelaide lived a majority of her life and died in, I look at it longingly. My heart fills and I dream of sitting in her room a few minutes more. For the longest time this contradiction confused me. Shouldn’t I remember the house I brought Adelaide home from the hospital in lovingly? Shouldn’t I hold the memories contained within its walls as precious?

Instead, those memories hurt that much more. A sharp, cutting pain that takes me by surprise each time.

It took years, but I eventually realized the source of that hurt was hope – not all hope, but specifically a naïve sort of hope – and it did die in that house. A hope for Adelaide’s future as a healthy child, for a typically developing family. When I look at that house I see a version of me that no longer exists and dreams for a family that were never meant to be.

Unlike the anxiety I experienced and (mostly) overcame at the grocery store this has never felt like a pain I had to force myself to face. Avoiding it didn’t hurt or inconvenience me or those I care about. Ok, maybe Miguel was a little inconvenienced because he had to do all the maintenance for the renters, but I don’t think he minded too much.

In the next few weeks though, we are finally selling the house to a lovely young family who can make their own memories there. I keep waiting to feel something, sadness maybe? Instead, I’ve found myself relieved. As if the sale of the house may finally allow me to release the spirit of my false hope that has tinged the memories of our time there. I will gladly take those memories back, restored to their natural colors. Because they are beautiful memories of a loving family and they deserve more.

ID: Kelly, a 3 year old Jackson, and Miguel are sitting on a front stoop in front of a white storm door. Kelly is wearing a brown leather jacket with a black scarf and jeans. Jackson is dressed in a knight costume and holding a shield. Miguel is wearing a blue sweater, jeans and a beanie.