Houses

In 1972, my grandmother died.  My father bought her house at auction, remodeled it, and we moved in.  It's a beautiful old house, two story brick.  It was my first home, because Mom and Dad lived with Grandma for a few years after they were married. 

I still remember how it was before it was remodeled.  There was a formal dining room with Grandma's elegant dining room suite, china cabinet and a buffet on which she kept houseplants because the light from the four windows was good for them.  There are French doors leading from there to the living room, which is large and airy and has a built-in ..i don't know what you would call it.  It's like a curio cabinet, but it stretches from two feet below the ceiling to the floor.  The kitchen was plain back then, with a little trolley cart beside the stove, a deep sink nobody used for dishes.  Those were done in white dish pans.  The upstairs is only two rooms, one large, one smaller, and the attic, which I've always been afraid to explore because as a child, I was told if I walked in I would fall through.  I guess that was to keep me out of there, but I doubt I'll ever go into it, anyway.

Last week, Mom and Dad announced they're moving into the house where Steve lived.  It would be better for them, they explained, because it's a little smaller and wouldn't be hard for Mom to get around in.  I can understand that...they deserve ease and happiness in the time they have left.  We all want that for them.  And yet, I was already missing the house where I'd spent such a large part of my life.  I can't imagine what it would be like not to be able to go there again.

Before their announcement, Dad had taken me to the side and explained to me that he doesn't want treatment this time.  He started telling me how he wanted his estate divided, and what he wanted me to have.  I was not prepared for that, but I stayed put for as long as I could because it was something he wanted and needed to say.  I made no comment.  It's not his possessions I want to hear about...I stayed for a while longer and made my escape.  The next evening, he sat me down again to talk to me.  He told me what he wanted me to have and what he wanted me to do with it.  He asked me what my plans were, and I told him I wanted to move back into the area, eventually.  That I planned to build a house on a little less than the fourteen acres I have now, because there's no way I would be able to take care of all of it on my own.  I told him that since it was almost paid off, my son could live in it and pay the taxes on it.  He seemed to approve.  As a matter of fact, he nodded his head a few times with that shrewd look that's still in his eyes...

And today, he asked me to move into his house when he moves out.  I guess I will.