I never thought it would be so hard to say goodbye to a house. Then, I realized our childhood home was riddled with my departed Dad’s handiwork and memories. Many of my heartstrings that were already brittled by loss tear apart while saying farewell.
Reminders
I walk through for the last time and I’m instantly reminded that grief is never truly gone. The wallpapered border that my dad carefully installed the year I was born before we moved in will probably be peeled and removed by the next family. I head up the stairs with creaks and worn carpet from the pounding steps my siblings and I used to take. The purple bathtub where I learned to love the water splashing about under my Dad’s careful eye, makes me laugh wondering how long it will grace the new owner’s eyes. I glance around the bedrooms and remember sneaking down to the stair landing when we could smell popcorn being made.
Next, I find myself in the family room where we would all snuggle together on pizza picnic Friday’s. Immediately, a lump forms in my throat and the tears spring free. It was the room my Dad spent his last night in before his final hospital stay.
My hands grip the kitchen counter where I fought losing battles about curfew as a teenager. I turn and see the mantle where our stockings hung every Christmas and Santa would fill them with extra change, gift cards, and silly odds and ends. After double checking the lock on the basement door, I move on to the garage. The empty sight is startling (for our neighbors too I’m sure). It was always packed with scrap metal, trash-picked treasures, tools, and lots and lots of junk accumulated to earn an extra dollar for taking care of our family.
I say a silent and prayerful goodbye at the spot where a small bit of Dad’s ashes will help nourish the soil. The gardens my mom lovingly tended will forever backdrop prom and baby photos in albums. I take extra pictures but know that they will not do it justice.
Together, my nephews and I watch one more train pass by and I experience visions of neighbors coming over to play. In front of the house, I see the cul-de-sac where neighbors would gather to gossip as we kids ran amok.
Final Goodbye
After a deep breath, I take a last look at my beautiful childhood home. My eyes settle on the front flower beds bordered by natural stone. This stone border was my mom and dad’s last big project. The one he insisted they complete before he died. My tears return and grief calls.
My family says our final goodbye to the house. This is the last time we will all be here together. We pack up my widowed mom and move her in with me for a while.
New Beginnings
Now here we are, helping her plan a new home. I am terribly saddened at the thought of filling a brand-new house with memories that do not include my dad. Mom recalls the sunshine on his face on their last car ride home from Lansing. She shares the way they reflected on their plans as a young couple. He told her to “dream big” about the next house. I think he knew she would want his blessing.
As I watch my mom commit to a future of happiness and contentment for herself, the pain of saying goodbye to a house called home is lessened. I carry her box of big dreams into my own home and together we all begin to look forward.
Take it In
This goodbye reminds me to take in and enjoy the time spent in the walls of my own house I call home. It is a lively place that I hope one day my daughters might too cry about when it is in their rear view mirror for the last time.
So, if you’re experiencing loss, remember to carry a big box of dreams for what’s next. Journeying through grief is filled with many emotions and it is okay to pause where you need to be. But, every so often look forward. Have faith that there is light on the horizon to help you push whenever you find yourself ready.