My mother-in-law's house sold recently and we're in mourning here. It is one of the sadder things we've experienced as a married couple. Weird how a house can become so much a part of your soul!
I come from a long line of locals who built houses and never moved out of them, just passed them down through the generations. Two houses away from me is the home my great-great grandfather built after the Civil War. The house next door and the one just across the yard were build by his two sons. My house was built by my great uncle. All of them are still owned by ancestors of the original owners. I live within a few dozen feet of the home where I grew up and this neighborhood has always been mine.
My husband grew up in a house not far from here - we could actually see it if not for the elevated train trestle - it's a home his parents bought before he was born. His mother's family moved here with the railroad back in the 1920s and his father landed here with the Coast Guard during WWII, so his roots are not quite as deep, but the home his parents bought has always been home to him and his affection for it is just as real as mine is for my old family home.
Houses are so full of memories, and I imagine that people who spend theirs in different places don't fully know how hard it is to say goodbye to one after such a long time. I know people who've lived in dozens of places in their lives, but that's not our experience.
I love his family home because there are so many memories connected with it. We lived so close to his parents we spent a lot of time there. Holidays, birthdays, dinners - so many times we enjoyed in that house over the thirty plus years we've been together. Our children spent hours there with their grandmother who loved to watch them whenever we needed a babysitter. As they got older, the girls liked staying overnight and playing cards with her - she taught them how to play pinochle. They loved the fact that she was a champion junk food eater who gladly shared her stash with them.
The house was full of things they'd made for her, that we'd given to her,and that we knew were dear to her. Every wall held memories and smiles. I loved her tablecloths and her dishes and all the things that made it her house. Even the thought of someone else living there, someone who doesn't appreciate the history and family that made it their own for over fifty years - well, its hard.
If I feel melancholy about this I can only imagine how my husband feels. We used to dream about buying the house ourselves one day and keeping it in the family, but it was not to be. Instead we're grieving over the loss and wondering why it seems so sad. It's a beautiful house that deserves to be taken care of and loved. I hope the next owner will do it justice. But it will never be part of our family again, never have an open door to us again, and just never be the same. I think that's worth crying over.
I come from a long line of locals who built houses and never moved out of them, just passed them down through the generations. Two houses away from me is the home my great-great grandfather built after the Civil War. The house next door and the one just across the yard were build by his two sons. My house was built by my great uncle. All of them are still owned by ancestors of the original owners. I live within a few dozen feet of the home where I grew up and this neighborhood has always been mine.
My husband grew up in a house not far from here - we could actually see it if not for the elevated train trestle - it's a home his parents bought before he was born. His mother's family moved here with the railroad back in the 1920s and his father landed here with the Coast Guard during WWII, so his roots are not quite as deep, but the home his parents bought has always been home to him and his affection for it is just as real as mine is for my old family home.
Houses are so full of memories, and I imagine that people who spend theirs in different places don't fully know how hard it is to say goodbye to one after such a long time. I know people who've lived in dozens of places in their lives, but that's not our experience.
I love his family home because there are so many memories connected with it. We lived so close to his parents we spent a lot of time there. Holidays, birthdays, dinners - so many times we enjoyed in that house over the thirty plus years we've been together. Our children spent hours there with their grandmother who loved to watch them whenever we needed a babysitter. As they got older, the girls liked staying overnight and playing cards with her - she taught them how to play pinochle. They loved the fact that she was a champion junk food eater who gladly shared her stash with them.
The house was full of things they'd made for her, that we'd given to her,and that we knew were dear to her. Every wall held memories and smiles. I loved her tablecloths and her dishes and all the things that made it her house. Even the thought of someone else living there, someone who doesn't appreciate the history and family that made it their own for over fifty years - well, its hard.
If I feel melancholy about this I can only imagine how my husband feels. We used to dream about buying the house ourselves one day and keeping it in the family, but it was not to be. Instead we're grieving over the loss and wondering why it seems so sad. It's a beautiful house that deserves to be taken care of and loved. I hope the next owner will do it justice. But it will never be part of our family again, never have an open door to us again, and just never be the same. I think that's worth crying over.
3 comments:
Aunt Barbara,
You made me cry! Each time we walked through the door, we were greeted with Grandma's soothing laugh and warm smile! I can still hear the side door creek open...the sweet scent of every room remains lingering in my mind. I can still feel the smoothness of the staircase banister and how it perfectly molded to the palm of my hand. I love Grandma's house!!
Thanks for sharing that Meg! You're like your aunt and uncle - sentimental to a fault. It is a very sad thing for us - like losing Grandma all over again. It was a beautiful house filled with her personality and love. I feel very lucky to have known her.
You are so very lucky to have had your family homes remain in the family. Ours have all been sold at various times, and with the passing on of each one, I've felt a similar veil of grief envelop me for a time. But, just as their owners have remained with us in memory, so do their homes, and all that we've shared within the walls. No matter what changes occur to the buildings after they've moved into other hands, they will always be 'Grandma's House'...with the squeeking doors, the smell of cookies, the smiles that greeted us. Those are deeply rooted within us, and a deed with a new name will never erase those memories. Hold them dear!
Thanks for another good one, Barbara!
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