I bought the house i grew up in 2 years ago. My dad passed away in the middle of the living room in 2005, i knelt there that night and cried. 5 feet away from that very spot my mom died in 1989, i watched it, i was 8 but the memory is still quite vivid. I LOVE this house. There are so many other great things about it. My mothers kitchen brings back very many memories of helping her set the table, about pizza night, about sitting on the counter as a baby and licking cookie dough off of a spoon. I was digging in the garden the other day and unearthed an old plant marker. petunias....easily 30 years old, It made me very happy.
My husband was redoing the closet and found etched in the wall under a shelf the initials A.N.G, well it was my room growing up and my initials were A.N.P., i was obviously pretending they were my initials, and the only person I could have been pretending that with was my husband, but back then he was just my crush.
Talk about a sweet look, my husband gave me the sweetest look after he saw that.
I guess my point is, an object, a house, whatever can have the meaning you give it, I could choose to associate this house with the negative aspects of my parents early deaths within it, i could get supersticious i suppose about the events that led up to it, and imagine floating spirits and such. But then i would miss out on changing a diaper in the same spot i had mine changed. Unearthing sweet memories from my garden. Decorating my daughters room that was once mine. Crossing threshholds and living out the good intention that my beloved parents were never able to accomplish.