The House I Don’t Remember

There is a house from my childhood that I can still find, but my memories cannot.

Ｌｏｇａｎ

Aug 08, 2026

My mom had me when she was 17.

Can you imagine becoming a mother at that age?

I can't.

Even her own parents told her to give me up for adoption.

But she decided otherwise.

She was with my dad. They'd gone to every school dance together, the whole “young love thing.” But underneath it, the relationship was very unhealthy. Filled with emotional abuse.

My mom used to tell me growing up that she would rather be punched in the face than emotionally abused.…They still got married. Which lasted only a month.

Then came the divorce … a messy one. They hated each other so much the courts had to get involved.

The court gave my mom full custody. And I would go to my dad's every other weekend. And every Christmas I would stay a week. Which I dreaded going to my dads.

This started when I was just a baby.

My parents couldn't be in the same room. So there had to be a median house, a “neutral drop-off” where they could exchange me without having to see each other. A little house on Orem Main Street. My mom would leave me there and drive away. My dad would come pick me up.

I could point that house out to this day. I know exactly which one it is. The outside bricks, the color, the patio everything. I've driven past it more times than I can count.

But I don't remember a single thing that happened inside it.

Not one memory.

When I close my eyes and try to picture the inside, the layout, a smell, a sound … there's nothing. Just a blank space.

And that scares me for some reason?

I was old enough to remember. I know I was there. That house was part of my life for years.

So why can't I access any of it?

Sometimes I wonder what happened inside those walls. Did I just play with my toys and waited to be picked up? Maybe it was nothing more than a house where I was dropped off and picked up.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe there were moments my mind decided not to hold onto.

I don't know.

All I know is my body reacts when I think about it. Like I'm standing outside a door I can't open. I’m protecting myself.

Since becoming a mother myself, it has made me think about that little girl more. The girl who got passed between two homes every other weekend. The girl who didn’t understand divorce, or custody, or courtrooms. I wonder if she was scared? I wonder if she knew how much was happening around her.

I wish I could give that little girl a hug.

If these words found you at the right time, I’d love to have you here.

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