My house is no longer a home. This was a recent discovery after my dad’s death. The life he lived—to the very last second—held my family together with thin strings. I don’t think anyone in my family knew it, nor do they now, but the house my parents built together and raised their two daughters in is no longer a home. It is simply a gray house in the suburbs of Kentucky.

Before my dad died in 2021, my house was alive. There were parties, laughter, family time. However, over the past year or two, the decline has been prevalent, to put it in the best terms. My dad suffered from a terminal illness known as ALS. It is probably one of the most heartbreaking illnesses to suffer from, and to witness a loved one suffer from. It was one of the most traumatic events I have experienced, and it has taken a large toll.

My house is quiet. The family photos have slowly come off the wall, thanks to my sister, and I can’t remember the last time I had family dinner. The background noises of my dad’s movies and his ventilator were comforting, and now I tread lightly and let the wood creak below my feet.

When your father dies and your entire family unravels, to the point of no return, your morals and values tend to change. I grew up with as normal of a childhood I could imagine, and I was a happy kid. My family hosted Thanksgiving, and my mom and I made cinnamon rolls every Christmas morning. During Halloween, we passed out the best candy we could find. We had traditions, a sense of true normalcy.

When said normalcy decays due to your family falling apart, you would do anything to try to put all of the pieces back together for your last few years living at home. Sadly, I was unable to. My sister and mother pick fights every other day and toss me into the middle of it. I spend my days walking around the childhood home I cherished and all I can feel is the dullness and depression wrapped around me.

When my father was sick, I told myself that I would live the rest of my life alone. I wouldn’t get married, and children were a hassle that I had a strong vendetta against. I had been preaching the single lifestyle since the preteen years and stuck to it. I couldn’t fathom to think about what it would be like if someone had to experience what I did, so why take the steps to make it happen?

Because I refuse to let myself continue to live in a house rather than a home. I want to bring together a community, buy a place to live with a significant other, and fill the walls with photos and memories. I want to carry traditions on that I never got to finish with my mom and dad. I want to make every front door I step foot into to become a home, and I want to give myself the home that I once had.