Yesterday was a little tough for me. I didn't realize it until this morning because I was so busy yesterday. Anyway, my nephew called me to tell me that we'd received a firm offer on my mother's house--the house she lived in for 54 years. We decided to accept the offer, so I assume that with a cash transaction, the house will belong to someone else in about a month.
It wasn't much of an "estate" really. Actually, it was an E-X-T-R-E-M-E-L-Y humble home--one of those "pre-fab" houses that was built as a shell. They paid the outrageous sum of $3200 for it! On a 30-year loan! (I think the mortgage was something like $25 a month.)
Anyway, it was located on a beautiful, huge lot. I was 4 years old when we moved in. My mom planted a little oak tree in the back yard--it was basically a twig she stuck in the ground. The tree is now absolutely massive, spreading shade over most of the backyard. (Keeping it trimmed is a major enterprise.) I loved that backyard. I spent hundreds of hours swinging on the swing set my dad put there for me. My mother talked to me about heaven one day by the clothesline while she cut my hair. (I never went to a barber til I got to college!) I'll always treasure that conversation. I was probably only seven at the time.
One of my earliest memories was of my dad (NOT a carpenter) and mother (NOT a carpenter's assistant) attempting to hang sheet rock on the walls and ceiling. It was actually quite funny at the time. I think that was the first time I heard my dad use his one and only expletive! (Through the years, he only used it on rare occasions, and he usually said it in a whisper. An oddly precious memory.)
Anyway, 54 years is a long time and it's sad to think of it no longer being "home." Lyn wanted me to think about us buying it ourselves, but the house is in serious disrepair, needing loads of serious attention (and loads of money to get it in shape). I'm ready to say farewell to 1904 West Sunny Street, but it's still a tough thing to do. Without Mom or Dad living there, it sorta lost its "soul" anyway. (By the way, we buried my dad 16 years ago this week, so that makes the situation all the more bittersweet.)
Thank God for memories and photographs and the reality of occasional drive-byes in the future.