In the end, it was just a house.

It was only the stage upon which the dramas and tragedies and comedies of lives were played out.
At the same time, it was sad this foggy morning to see our neighbors' house torn down by the unknowing sweeps and crunches of the big orange machine, with the truck ready to carry off the debris that was once a cherished home.  Sixty-three years of being a home, and it came down in about two hours.

The same thing happened to the house in McLean, Virginia that my parents had taken care of for so many years, the flowers and curtains and door mats, the thousands and millions of decisions and actions both small and momentous that had taken place there   The laughter and tears and snow shoveled and lawns mowed and shrubs trimmed and leaving for college and bringing the granddaughter by to be admired, until we had all left and the machines came.

It's all gone now, replaced by a McMansion whose owners have no clue as to the lives that took place there, now writing their own.
Yeah, I know that in the end they were just houses, but things took place in them that will echo through eternity.  I hope that when the time comes, ours will go peacefully after being the stage upon which more good than bad took place.
I hope that yours is a place where love can dwell, and where peace may be found while it stands.
Dave