The house that I sit inside as I write this long overdue post is the one and only geographical constant I’ve had in my life. My Grandmother bought it shortly before I was born in 1973, and I’ve been wandering these halls for 33 years straight. We sold it recently, and are out of here lock, stock and barrel on July 31st. It finally sank in today when I met the new owners and overheard some of their renovation plans – and I suppose I’m sad this evening. Finally.
The last 5 years or so, as my Grandmother’s health and mind have deteriorated, the house has been more of a headache than anything anyone wants to be remotely nostalgic about. I watched the new owner’s children run around in the backyard today, and get excited about the dark ravine I used to know like the back of my hand. I looked out the patio doors at the run down pool that we’ve spent hundreds of dollars keeping functional this summer and can almost see one of my parent’s late night parties that used to take place this time of year – 20 years ago. I’m not going to get out of here at the end of this week without at least a little tug at the heartstrings.
There’s my Grandfather helping me put together my Death Star during Christmas 1977. I can almost picture my beloved Planet of the Apes playhouse down where it stood in the basement. The obligatory driveway hand prints from 1987 are eroded but discernible. Last night I slept in the room I lived in for the summer of 1996 when I was at University and washing windows in the next town over.
The dining room table which used to be the epicenter of the house is now quiet, and will be moved to my new apartment come the fall. 10 minutes ago my father decided he didn’t want the Grandfather clock and that’ll go to me too. Janet’s got dibs on the old kitchen table. Life will go on, obviously, but a more crystal-clear end to an era you’ll never find – and I’ll have a sniffle if I want to.
Just went through the same thing with my aunts house this past winter Dave. Every little thing you find as you’re cleaning out the house brings back a memory. It’s sad, but also nice because you remember all the good times you had with the family member who lived there.
Thanks, chief. I feel like Sam during the last episode of Cheers – hence the title.
Can relate to this feeling, my friend. Though, I missed the opportunity to clean out my grandparents flat in England, I spent a few lost hours going through the boxes of their things at an old storage barn in Bristol. Gone were the photos of my Grandpa in India as a child. Stolen was my Granny’s wedding ring. The china set and silver hairbrush and first addition books sit in a box in Richmond waiting to be shipped. So, enjoy the moments you have left and make sure you say a special good-bye, out loud to your Gran.
It is sad to realize that we’re grown up isn’t it? All I can say is I’ll be thinking of you on Tuesday & sending you a giant hug!
I know exactly what you going through Dave. My grandparents build their house brick by brick themselves. Since the house was as old as my mother it would age along with my grandparents and required maintenance and repairs. Every summer vacation, I would help my grandpa put a new fence in, paint the garage doors, cut the grass, or plant new flowers with my grandma.
Myself and my immediate family immigrated to Canada, and my grandparents passed on a while ago. The house is now being taken over by distant relatives. My bro went there to visit just a month ago (former Czechoslovakia). The new owners are turning the family house into a business establishment. The walls were being torn down, and they were boasting how much was removed and changed from the original plan. My bro told me he had tears in his eyes, and so did I after he described the scene to me. The new people have no memories or any sort of attachments to the place. For us it’s as if our past is being torn apart.
I’m living in a new land now, and I guess my old home is gone. It only stays in my memories. All we can do is form new memories and cherish the old ones Dave.
Ive never been through anything like that and I don’t think I ever want too. Sounds absolutely heartbreaking.
My grandma died in 1994, but she lived about a mile from my parents, and on the way home from getting groceries sometimes, I’ll still drive by the little house on Nakota Road. I wonder about the basement, with its strange murals drawn by my aunt, and the backyard, where I played weird games in my imagination while on the swings and behind the honeysuckle bush.
I remember just after, when they took out a shrub and repainted some of the trim. I felt almost wounded.
Anyway, great post.
Thanks for all the kind words, people. We got through it in one piece.