Bentheim I miss you

I was just going through some photos that I thought might be useful for my MA project, when a sudden melancholy hit me. Last July I took lots of photos in Bentheim, the town that my mother is from and where I spent all my summers and Christmasses when I was little. We always stayed at my grandparents' and when I look at the pictures of the house, which was sold in 2001 or 2, now, I get a really sad feeling in my stomach. Even a bit angry. It just seems so unfair, that there is no way of turning back the time and having one more chance to have tea and biscuits with Oma and Opa and then go out the door, up the two flights of stairs and pay the castle a visit.
I have such vivid memories of the place. Especially the house. The sofa in the front living room, that was really springy, the dark blue curtains (with a thin red checker pattern), that lit up at night when a car went past outside in the cobbled street (I used to love that sound as well!). There used to be a wooden cross in the hallway when you came in, with an inscription that I liked, now I am really angry that I can't remember what it said and will probably never again find out, because it's gone. Forever. It all is so final and yet, somehow I still don't want to believe that I will never see those rooms, the sofa, the curtains, and my grandparents again. That sucks.