A few years ago my grandma (who everyone called nana) was diagnosed
with cancer. It was pretty certain that this was the beginning of
the end. Along the way it became obvious that she couldn't keep up
her house (which had been theirs for much longer than my lifetime),
and none of us grandkids were in a position to do it either. She
lacked the money to keep the house and move in somewhere else, so
after much deliberation and debate the decision was made to sell it.
It was awfully hard to see it go...being that me, all my brothers
and sisters and all of our own children spent a large portion of our
childhood there. We fixed it up, spending twenty hour days making
it like new again (not that it was far from that given the amount of
loving care rendered it by my grandma and grandpa). We paid special
attention to the back yard, which was the greatest part of the
place.
It was HUGE, like 100'x300' (hey, that's huge to a kid in a town
with little yards), had ancient trees in it, all of which bore fruit
and supported many a fort. There was a little hiding spot behind
the shed in the corner, a wishing well in the middle, and all the
varieties of flowering plants that could grow in the pacific NW. A
little zuchinni and rutabega patch rounded it out, and provided the
staple of meals over there.
There wasn't one square inch of that yard, or house for that matter,
that wasn't overfull with memory, and every one of them loving.
Sure there were painful spots...eating the poison root, girlfriends
come and gone, injuries, the gathering after my mom's death...but
these were trifles compared to the thousands of hours or love and
joy that filled that place.
But there was nothing for it, the place had to go, and go it
did...quickly in fact. In the days and weeks that followed I'd
often find myself at 3 in the morning on the sidewalk in front of
the house, just sitting there looking at it...unable to completely
understand what it was I was seeing...mine and yet not mine. But
since it was not in my immediate area the visits lessened, and
finally stopped completely. Soon after, my nana passed from this
world and I couldn't even bring myself to think about that house, or
the memories that would come with it. Whenever I came back to town
I chose alternate routes so as not to even see the city street that
it was on.
For many months that continued, until finally I was so drawn that
the pull was irresistable. I went one day and drove by the house.
It had been painted, but that's a small matter. The yard was well
kept, the flowers blooming...my nana was gone but the beauty of the
house remained. It felt good to see it again. Late that evening I
took a walk by it, and passed by many many times as I walked the
trails and patterns of my youth. By the wee hours of the morning
when all was quiet and resting I hopped a nearby fence and sat once
again in the backyard that was the foundation of so much of my
childhood, and so much of my own daughters, and in fact the common
thread tying my family and friends so closely together. For a
couple hours at least I lay there and sobbed silently, comforted in
the arms of the earth, nurtured by familiar smells and sounds that
existed no where else on this earth. Then, just before dawn I
hopped back out of the yard of my memory and did not return...until
today.
After dropping off a friend at his new house I unthinkingly made the
turns to get back to my house by the most common route, which placed
me in front of my nana's house once more. As it came into view and
I took it all in I stopped breathing, stopped thinking...indeed it
was as if time itself stepped aside out of respect. I turned off
the car, leaving it in the middle of the road, and stood staring at
a foreign landscape. The side yard was gone, blacktopped over to
create a driveway from the front to the back. Where once was the
jouyous yard of my youth now rested a 6 car 2 1/2 story garage and
shop, surrounded entirely by blacktop and work areas. No more
grass, no more trees, no more garden or flowers or well. No place
at all that a child could love or call their own. No hope of
regrowth, no gentle breezes, no cooling shade. No picnics, no
barbeques...just a monument to modified car collecting. The
neighbor, lifelong friend of the families, saw me and came out to
explain...the buyer was a car nut it turns out, who makes his own
street rods. They neither have nor want children, content to move
up the corporate ladder and spend the money on more toys for
themselves, buy their way up the social structure they revere.
I could only remain scant seconds after hearing this. There was
nothing to say, no sense in remaining. Like a vampire confronted
with sunlight in a church yard I fled back to my car and raced home,
the tears making it near impossible to drive. And now I sit, my
dinner untouched, my childhood raped and left for dead. Why oh why
didn't I take more pictures? Why didn't I write more journals, keep
some leaves, some grass, some earth...just one pressed flower? Why
must time take from us the only things that are truly ours in this
world?
I realize the new owners need to make it theirs. I know they
receive pleasure from this, the way we all did from it's previous
state. I don't blame them. I just wish I knew how to deal with
this...and how to tell the rest of the family.
Kristin
with cancer. It was pretty certain that this was the beginning of
the end. Along the way it became obvious that she couldn't keep up
her house (which had been theirs for much longer than my lifetime),
and none of us grandkids were in a position to do it either. She
lacked the money to keep the house and move in somewhere else, so
after much deliberation and debate the decision was made to sell it.
It was awfully hard to see it go...being that me, all my brothers
and sisters and all of our own children spent a large portion of our
childhood there. We fixed it up, spending twenty hour days making
it like new again (not that it was far from that given the amount of
loving care rendered it by my grandma and grandpa). We paid special
attention to the back yard, which was the greatest part of the
place.
It was HUGE, like 100'x300' (hey, that's huge to a kid in a town
with little yards), had ancient trees in it, all of which bore fruit
and supported many a fort. There was a little hiding spot behind
the shed in the corner, a wishing well in the middle, and all the
varieties of flowering plants that could grow in the pacific NW. A
little zuchinni and rutabega patch rounded it out, and provided the
staple of meals over there.
There wasn't one square inch of that yard, or house for that matter,
that wasn't overfull with memory, and every one of them loving.
Sure there were painful spots...eating the poison root, girlfriends
come and gone, injuries, the gathering after my mom's death...but
these were trifles compared to the thousands of hours or love and
joy that filled that place.
But there was nothing for it, the place had to go, and go it
did...quickly in fact. In the days and weeks that followed I'd
often find myself at 3 in the morning on the sidewalk in front of
the house, just sitting there looking at it...unable to completely
understand what it was I was seeing...mine and yet not mine. But
since it was not in my immediate area the visits lessened, and
finally stopped completely. Soon after, my nana passed from this
world and I couldn't even bring myself to think about that house, or
the memories that would come with it. Whenever I came back to town
I chose alternate routes so as not to even see the city street that
it was on.
For many months that continued, until finally I was so drawn that
the pull was irresistable. I went one day and drove by the house.
It had been painted, but that's a small matter. The yard was well
kept, the flowers blooming...my nana was gone but the beauty of the
house remained. It felt good to see it again. Late that evening I
took a walk by it, and passed by many many times as I walked the
trails and patterns of my youth. By the wee hours of the morning
when all was quiet and resting I hopped a nearby fence and sat once
again in the backyard that was the foundation of so much of my
childhood, and so much of my own daughters, and in fact the common
thread tying my family and friends so closely together. For a
couple hours at least I lay there and sobbed silently, comforted in
the arms of the earth, nurtured by familiar smells and sounds that
existed no where else on this earth. Then, just before dawn I
hopped back out of the yard of my memory and did not return...until
today.
After dropping off a friend at his new house I unthinkingly made the
turns to get back to my house by the most common route, which placed
me in front of my nana's house once more. As it came into view and
I took it all in I stopped breathing, stopped thinking...indeed it
was as if time itself stepped aside out of respect. I turned off
the car, leaving it in the middle of the road, and stood staring at
a foreign landscape. The side yard was gone, blacktopped over to
create a driveway from the front to the back. Where once was the
jouyous yard of my youth now rested a 6 car 2 1/2 story garage and
shop, surrounded entirely by blacktop and work areas. No more
grass, no more trees, no more garden or flowers or well. No place
at all that a child could love or call their own. No hope of
regrowth, no gentle breezes, no cooling shade. No picnics, no
barbeques...just a monument to modified car collecting. The
neighbor, lifelong friend of the families, saw me and came out to
explain...the buyer was a car nut it turns out, who makes his own
street rods. They neither have nor want children, content to move
up the corporate ladder and spend the money on more toys for
themselves, buy their way up the social structure they revere.
I could only remain scant seconds after hearing this. There was
nothing to say, no sense in remaining. Like a vampire confronted
with sunlight in a church yard I fled back to my car and raced home,
the tears making it near impossible to drive. And now I sit, my
dinner untouched, my childhood raped and left for dead. Why oh why
didn't I take more pictures? Why didn't I write more journals, keep
some leaves, some grass, some earth...just one pressed flower? Why
must time take from us the only things that are truly ours in this
world?
I realize the new owners need to make it theirs. I know they
receive pleasure from this, the way we all did from it's previous
state. I don't blame them. I just wish I knew how to deal with
this...and how to tell the rest of the family.
Kristin
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