When this thought first crossed my mind this morning, it was due to the fact that a snowfall warning showed up as an alert on my phone. "Trev won't have to worry about the snow at Mom's any more", was the passing thought I had.
This is it. The end of an era.
We moved into that house on November 1st, 1976. The only thing I really remember about the move is the fact that the previous owners had rarely cleaned the top of the kitchen cupboards and there was years grime and grease built up on them. Mom wistfully said, "I'll give you a dollar if you clean them!" I'd do pretty much anything for a dollar, so clean them? I did.
The last time I was at Mom's, I checked out the tops of those cupboards to ensure they were clean for their new owners. Granted, most of those cupboard tops are now covered since a sunshine ceiling was built, but what remained was clean. You're welcome.
My room was yellow. I made a quilt for my room and tried my hand at decorating. I even entered a redecorating contest a youth magazine was holding at the time. I didn't win, but at the time, I thought I had a good chance. I have no idea what happened to that quilt. I'm certain I must have taken it with me when I moved out, but it never made it to our Saskatoon home.
Little things.
I only lived in that house from November 1st, 1976 until February 24, 1978, yet it felt like a lifetime.
I got my first job while I lived there. I saved up and bought a bedroom suite, a 10" color TV and a none-too-fancy stereo. I was very proud of what I had accumulated on my own, to bring into my brand new marriage.
My wedding pictures were taken in the living room, with some somewhat gaudy looking velvet wallpaper as a backdrop to those photos...
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| Dad and me |
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| Me and my mom |
That house saw so very much. A highlight reel of occasions waft through my mind as I type those words.
"It's a good house for entertaining", my brother said to me during one of our last walk-throughs of Mom's home. Oh, the stories those walls would have to tell, if only those walls could talk.
That house saw us through so very much.
As I sit here and think of letting it go, I tend to think of Mom and Dad's lives ending during the years they owned that home.
Dad was far too young. His story scrolls through my mind ...
Mom's touch was in every nook and cranny of that house. As we went through the process of emptying, sorting and getting the house ready to leave our family, I wandered through each and every room and breathed in the essence of Mom.
The day she died, I could feel her presence when we came back to her house. She was still so close. Each time I returned, I felt her essence a little bit less and less. The last time I was there, I did little more than simply breathe in the moments. I could almost hear tell me to stay another day when the cold weather didn't break. I heard her. And I stayed. At the time, I felt I could have lingered in that existence between "then" and "now" forever.
Almost a month has passed since that day.
The only real reason I would have gone back, would have been to return her ironing board that doesn't fold. It belongs in Mom's laundry room. An ironing board that doesn't fold NEEDS to be in a laundry room like Mom's. It was not in the way. It served a purpose. Mom was always quite proud of her ironing skills and she had a room which made ironing easy.
Yes, that house was tailor made by and for Mom. And her family. Yes, it was a great house for entertaining. So many memories. So very, very many of them are light and easy and family filled. I hear the laughter, the voices and stories that were told under that roof. I hope the echoes of those days remain part of my memories forever.
It was a good house. I hope it goes on to become part of another family's story...
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