Home sweet home

“I fought to hide the ache in my heart when the real-estate agent took my husband, Joe, and me to search for our new house. The four-bedroom home where we had raised our kids was too big and hard to take care of now that we were empty nesters. I knew it was time to downsize, but I couldn’t imagine another house feeling like home without all our loving memories. ‘Home is where the heart is,’ Joe kept reminding me. But it was hard to imagine my heart anywhere else.

“As he said those words, I was reminded of an old wreath with that phrase on it that our children had made for us when they were young. Once they’d grown up and were out of the house, Joe had mistakenly thought it was junk and donated it one summer when he was cleaning out the garage. I’d been angry with him for days.

“After looking at three houses, my spirits were dragging, but as we went up the sidewalk of one last house, I spotted a wreath on the door. As we got closer, I noticed the familiar silk flowers and wooden heart-shaped plaque that read: Home is where the heart is.

“My breath caught as I realized it was the exact wreath our children had made. Joe and I looked at each other in awe.

‘I think this house is going to be a good fit,’ the agent said as she opened the door. I smiled, hugged my husband and with my heart full of hope I replied, ‘It already feels like home.’”

—Anna Benning, 66, Sunbury, PA