Dear the Future Child Residents of 27 Oakbridge Road,

Before you enter, you should know this house is magic.

Are you laughing and saying magic isn’t real?

I bet I can change your mind. Keep reading.

In 1988, which is both a very long time ago and not so long ago at all, I emerged from my mom’s belly, and my dad felt scared. He worried he couldn’t do a good enough job of being a dad. At first all I could do was eat and sleep and poop, and though he wanted to bond with me, he didn’t feel love in his heart.

So the house intervened. Every time my dad walked in the door, it sprinkled a tiny bit of love magic on him, so small he didn’t notice. Soon, my dad began to notice the funny way I laughed, and my silly baby smile. He started to pick me up and polka around the house until we both collapsed in fits of giggles. Within a few months he realized he loved me more than anything in the world except perhaps my mom. The house smiled.

Wait, do you think houses can’t smile? Hmm.
Well, then you haven’t spent enough time in this house. Yet.

Then my dad got very sick. The doctors said he had cancer and would probably die. But my dad loved me very, very much and couldn’t imagine letting me grow up without a daddy. He tried every treatment the doctors thought up, even when it made him vomit and lose his hair.

The house saw how hard this was for my family, so it decided to work more magic. It took a little magic dust and *poof* blew it into the air. The wind picked it up and blew it farther and farther away until everyone who knew my family felt it. Grandparents and aunts and uncles and friends came to help. Even though this time was still hard, each visitor brought love with them and we learned love is a balm for hard times.

Slowly my dad got better.

For a while life was easy, as far as life is ever easy. My family read stories together every evening, and my dad took me sledding, and my mom taught me how to bake, and we celebrated birthdays, and gave the first person to see a hummingbird in the spring a kiss.

And I grew. I grew and I grew and I grew.

I grew to my teens and felt alone and broken. Looking back, I don’t think I was alone or broken. For some people having these feelings is part of growing up. You may feel this way for a while, too. It’s OK if you do, and OK if you don’t.

The house saw my sadness and decided to help. One day I asked some acquaintances from my debate team to come over. To my astonishment, they said yes.

I savored each moment, figuring they would never come back. But I hadn’t counted on the house. As my teammates entered, the house sprinkled them with the magic dust. Soon, my teammates became my friends and hung out at the house almost every weekend, and my heart filled with love again.

What I didn’t know then is that almost every one of my friends had hard times in their family life. They came from families with parents divorcing, siblings in trouble, or sickness. When they came into the house they felt the love it conferred and it helped, because love is a balm for hard times. The house knew this and smiled.

Eventually it was time for me to grow up and move away to college. Before I left I tried to stock up on love like I could fill a secret vial in my heart, but I doubted I’d been able to save enough to last long.

I felt scared. Every time a college break came around I tried to stock up on more. I had friends at college, but it didn’t feel the same. I missed the love from the house.

Time passed. I graduated college.
I went to grad school and then got a job in a faraway state.

Last summer my husband and I got married in that faraway state, surrounded by family and friends. I looked at all the people around us and realized how very much love I have in my life, how happy and fortunate I am.

Then I realized the house was a thousand miles away. How could I feel this much love when it wasn’t close by? Many of these people had never set foot in the house.

That’s when I realized the house hadn’t just sprinkled me with love all these years. It taught me to grow my own. Maybe I had grown my own all along. Although I couldn’t see it, when I realized this I felt the house smile.

My dad is getting sick again. Don’t worry, he doesn’t have cancer. Unfortunately, the treatments they gave him decades ago caused some nerve damage, and it’s getting worse over time. It’s no longer safe for him to live somewhere with stairs, so my parents had to move.

But you know what? This is OK. My family has unlocked the secrets of loving each other, and ourselves, and our community. We don’t need the house to guide us anymore. While the house is sad to see my family leave, it’s also a little happy. It can’t wait to meet the next generation of people with whom it gets to share its secrets. That’s you. The house already loves you. I hope you feel that love when you walk in. I hope you feel it, and grow it, and share it.

I bet, when you walk in for the first time, the house will smile.

Sincerely,

The Previous Child Resident of 27 Oakbridge Road

ABOUT SUZANNE MILLER

Suzanne Miller is a speculative fiction writer, physical therapist, and cat servant.  When she’s not writing, torturing her friends and family with bad puns, or talking to the cat, she enjoys running, reading, and crocheting.  Her work can be found at suzannemillerwrites.com