Brighton, Colorado

Everything seemed so much bigger as an 11-year-old compared to a now 35. The road from my apartment to our favorite park felt forever long, but in reality is only 0.5 miles away. The hill I learned how to ride a bike felt like a mountainous incline, but in reality was no taller than a small mound. It was nice to be in a familiar place, yet I felt like a complete stranger to a place I once called home.

As I was showing my kids these things, they were in the backseat bickering and fighting. I found myself grow frustrated at the fact that they too didn’t feel the sentiment of these places. They didn’t get to relive the old tree we climbed, the old tire swing we would often get dizzy on, the Chinese restaurant that made us crave fried rice, or the trail near the Platte River we would walk after dinner every night. It wasn’t their childhood, it was mine.

It prompted me to think, what will my children share with their spouses one day? What park will they show their kids? What vacations will they take their children one day in hopes to relive their childhood? A sense of nostalgic sadness overcame me, knowing that one day, they too will grow up and all the things that felt so big are actually not at all. But it also prompted me to ensure that they have the best memories to share they will want to come back to instead of avoid. Parks and trails and smells and foods that they once loved that they want to share with their children.

Colorado will always hold a special place in my heart, but it’s no longer home. Just a memory of a family of four that has now grown into a family of 14.

Until next time Colorado,
Rachel Saefong