I went down this past weekend to do the big move for my parents. In a nuts & bolts sense, things went extremely well. Everything got moved in a single day, and everything pretty much seems to fit in the (much smaller) new place. ALSO - and this is actually a very big thing - this "moving my parents along to their next stage of life" has seemed to really bring out the best in my brother & sister's families. From willingness to pitch in and do whatever to an absolute absence of any bickering over "who gets what" as my parents downsize, there was been very little intra-family stress in these past couple of months
But other than that - it was a pretty emotionally draining weekend. I went down by myself; partly because my kids would have just been in the way of the work; but partly also because I had a lot to process, both on the way down and on the way back up. Though the choice to move was fairly proactive on my mom & dad's part (on their proverbial "own terms"), it was not a celebratory event. Nobody is under any illusions. They are simply too old to keep up with the rigors of maintaining a large house and yard, and my dad is far too unhealthy to live in a house with more than one level.
It was a very painful scene for me to witness - my dad, this once vital, powerful man who moved into a house in Waterloo, IA with his two kids in 1967, at age 37 (my age, coincidentally); now ancient and withered appearing, with tubes up his nose, sitting on a lawn chair in the garage watching his offspring carry the accumulations of his past 41 years past him and onto a moving van; too helpless to even assist. We stayed busy enough through the day, though, that there was not a ton of time to dwell on anything, and various interactions the rest of that day and evening prevented me from dwelling on the psychology of the whole weekend.
It was the next morning, when I made my long-planned "last visit" to the old place, all alone, when I was consumed by memory. Undoubtedly, the circumstances of my parent's leaving played into my feelings, but my parents aside, it was a sad enough parting just between me and the house. As I moved room to room, I was frequently overcome, remembering (burning memories, actually) past times; particularly those ones from my young childhood - those times when we all had a moment-to-moment, almost meditative absorbsion of our surroundings: tracing a path between the bumps of spackle on the walls, interpreting the patterns on a tile floor, the rough grating feel of that part of the carpet you can only reach by tunneling your finger in between the individual pieces of pile ,the distinct smell that only comes from smashing one's nostrils right up to a heating vent and inhaling completely. The minuteae of your immediate environment which, at that time in your life, is pretty much just the house you live in. All this came back to me in wave after wave of intense recollection, and I worked to get my head around two of the greatest pieces of evidence I've ever experienced, supporting the notion that I simply don't live in a protected, ageless bubble. The truest "home" I've ever known, gone; and my dad's mortality. Father Time marches on, and he is wearing Vasque Sundowners.
I spent a while in the old house. I may have even spent the time I needed there. At the end, I bid tear-stained farewell, and was off.
Posts
9 comments:
Your two consecutive posts bring to mind the 'best of times, worst of times' notion from Dickens. It always seemed a bit hazy as to what the best of times was in the book, since over the course of its exposition things generally go from ok to really bad. Ok should not be confused for best, not even by the generally gloomy Dickens.
My journey through this life has been different than most, especially as it concerns the topic at hand. The deterioration that my parents experienced was rapid and so filled with need that the moment was all there was. There was little time, at the time, to reflect.
And since the house was the place of those experiences, my nostalgia for its intimate sights and smells is tempered by other sights and smells I experienced there. I did not feel especially sad to leave it behind.
But I can empathize, particularly with such thoughtful and evocative writing.
Thanks. It was neither the best of times, nor the truly worst of times. But I'll tell you, it sure makes the bright-burning spirit of my two young daughters a sight for sore eyes when I get home.
Opening the front door and being mobbed my Lucy & Rose tossed "Tale of Two Cities" out the window and introduced the final scene of the cinematic "Return of the King," when Sam comes home to his family, and suddenly you don't feel so sad anymore.
Thank God for how, in this world of heartache, distress, and loss, we continue on in our beautiful little children.
Heavy, heavy stuff. The bit about you moving stuff in front of your dad - especially so.
No quick thing I can say to express feelings at such change. Your parents lived there a very long time and I truly wish them the best with their new situation. You mentioned it before, but it is a move that must be made and hopefully they will adapt smoothly and continue to enjoy their still full lives.
thanks for posting the pics by the way
Sure, & thanks for the thoughts. Kind of funny - when I think about how far back I go with you guys, I always sort of assume that I grew up with you, and that you also have this set of memories of my house & my folks & everything.
But, though you certainly knew my parents and were fond enough of them (I assume), and spent some time in my house, it was really all so much just background noise in the bigger scope of your lives. You didn't really have any more of a connection to my house, than we did of Easton & Mitchell, & so on.
That said - on a recent trip back to W'loo, I did a run that looped around Kittrell. The old school is being torn down and they're building a new one (*sigh* the end of more things). I did take a moment to pause in front of the ol' Gibbs abode on Easton and give the yard a little ceremonial pat, figuring I just may not be around that way again.
A sad chapter in your life that is for sure. I hope that you took more photos of the inside to help you lock in your memory.
You are an outstanding son!
Thanks, man. My brother is proving to be quite the outstanding son in these days, I gotta say.
I took a few inside pictures, but they're actually pretty bleak, as mostly everything was in disarray or moved out already.
Nice to see you back in this forum.
Very moving.
I have some memories of visiting your home during the high school era. Small ripples of this move reach me, if only as a reminder that we have no control over time. This sounds a little odd, but my own family/families have moved many times since those days back in the late '80s, and it was a nice reminder, looking at your older posts, that some things haven't changed so quickly.
Most people I know come from families that have experienced a number of moves, and who therefore never had a place to which they were so deeply attached.
Funny, as so much of my adult life has been an active, if not conscious, effort to disassociate myself with where I grew up.
In contrast to many of the people we graduated from high school with - the majority of us, I'll wager, are living among the best years of our lives NOW, as opposed to back then. I suspect more than a couple of us will find it extremely hard when & if we move from our current residences, someday. The circumstances of the move, though, go a long way towards determining how hard.
Post a Comment