For the first time, we are empty nesters. There will be no Christmas basketball tournament featuring a Kelly kid coming off the bench, or a casual, error-prone annual holiday show wrapped around cider and seasonal sugar cookies. More importantly, future visits "home" will be awkward and curious. I have referred to the Southern California house I grew up in as "my parents' house" and its surrounding community as "the old neighborhood" for more than 30 years. Although the memories of that place are dear and precious, home is where we now live and where our four kids were born and raised. When my dad died a little more than eight years ago, mom sold the large family home of 46 years and moved into a nearby condominium, keeping the dreams of the area yet leaving the emptiness and upkeep of an old structure. Only one of seven children remains in that area, and visiting siblings shuffled between his home and mom's "step-saver" condo. Now, mom has left the old neighborhood and moved to th...
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