Open House, Empty House
Thursday was Day II of the major clearing out/cleaning out of items from my mother's suburban house, and the job is about 98 percent complete.
The washer, dryer, refrigerator, television, couch, all but one reclining chair, dinner table and chairs, kitchen table and chairs, bedroom furniture, dressers, everything of that nature is gone. One recliner, the stove and a corner stand are all that remain upstairs, items that Val and I will be moving to our home soon, as well as my father's record collection and part of my record/vinyl collection, which is stored downstairs at my mother's house and will also be moved here soon.
We knew it would happen, but now, finally, a home has become a house. I kept busy both times I was there while the people moving and eventually selling my mother's items were working, because I needed to get a lot of personal effects out of the house and to keep myself from going crazily maudlin or starting bawling.
It really hit me at one particular point; just before I left at about 6:15 p.m., I walked through the house one more time with Stephen, the man in charge of the effort, to see that everything that was to be removed had been and that all of the windows and doors were closed. As we finished and he went back outside, I was standing between the living room and dining room, looking at the reclining chair we will soon make a new home for here. I looked in the mirror next to it, and all the reflection showed were two empty rooms and four walls stripped bare. I felt a chill and sense of loss I hadn't felt before, shook my head and left, my footsteps echoing through the house.
With the melting of the snow, the deer tracks are now all but gone, with only those left in the mud between my mother's garage and one neighbor's house. I haven't had the heart to tell them that Mom won't be returning.
The washer, dryer, refrigerator, television, couch, all but one reclining chair, dinner table and chairs, kitchen table and chairs, bedroom furniture, dressers, everything of that nature is gone. One recliner, the stove and a corner stand are all that remain upstairs, items that Val and I will be moving to our home soon, as well as my father's record collection and part of my record/vinyl collection, which is stored downstairs at my mother's house and will also be moved here soon.
We knew it would happen, but now, finally, a home has become a house. I kept busy both times I was there while the people moving and eventually selling my mother's items were working, because I needed to get a lot of personal effects out of the house and to keep myself from going crazily maudlin or starting bawling.
It really hit me at one particular point; just before I left at about 6:15 p.m., I walked through the house one more time with Stephen, the man in charge of the effort, to see that everything that was to be removed had been and that all of the windows and doors were closed. As we finished and he went back outside, I was standing between the living room and dining room, looking at the reclining chair we will soon make a new home for here. I looked in the mirror next to it, and all the reflection showed were two empty rooms and four walls stripped bare. I felt a chill and sense of loss I hadn't felt before, shook my head and left, my footsteps echoing through the house.
With the melting of the snow, the deer tracks are now all but gone, with only those left in the mud between my mother's garage and one neighbor's house. I haven't had the heart to tell them that Mom won't be returning.
posted by Kevin J. Hosey at 1:39 AM
2 Comments:
That's funny; I was just going through old pictures the other day, and the one David pulled out was himself as a baby and Tom (much younger), in the recliner.
So sad, but I am glad you were there to do it personally. I can picture just where the couch, recliner, mirror, kitchen table, mirror and all the rest are (were), what surrounds them, everything. It was always one of my very favorite places to visit. I can't imagine how much more meaningful/difficult it is for you. It's a huge chunk of your life.
I was glad I was there, too, Kim. Even though the crew did the vast majority of the work, I gave them a bit of input and the crew leader, Stephen, was very good at keeping me informed of every step they took and asked me questions.
Between the actual days there and the items I have at home, the effects continue to roll in like waves.
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