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The End

It's all gone. I can't say anything else.

Coming to an End

In the ongoing story of my mother's farm being sold and her moving, we are coming to the final steps.

She is happily ensconced in her name place.  She had a house cleaner. (I'm jealous, but it's not in my budget.)

The state has now taken possession of the property and is tearing the buildings down.

These buildings were built after a tornado destroyed them a day or two after my brother was born. He was born early and no one had expected him to survive the delivery. Many people from the community helped my parents get back on their feet and their efforts went into many of the buildings.

It seems like such a waste that the barns and silos are simply being bulldozed or blown up. My brother says they will burn down the house soon. I hope the fire department will use the fire for practice putting them out. It will seem less pointless that way.

And that is the last step. The farm will exist only in our memories.

The Last Walk Through

The day we moved my mom to her new house was very organized.  Everyone had a job including my kids.  Their job was to entertain Grandma and keep her from getting anxious while everyone else packed up her things and hauled them to her new house. We took her to the park and she got to watch the kids climb and run and play.  My niece made her day by falling asleep on her lap.

When we left, the old house still looked like itself. Mostly. The pictures were off the walls, but the furniture was still in the places it had been for decades.

When we returned from the park, we went directly to her new house. We had lunch. The kids took an abbreviated nap and everyone worked on moving furniture into place and putting it away.

By the time we were finished, the kids had deteriorated to the goofy-tired stage and we went straight home. I didn't get a chance to leave the old place knowing this was the last time I would go there.

It bothered me.  I couldn't think of my mom and not picture her at the old house. I couldn't imagine her not living there. I couldn't imagine her belongings not being there, even though I had seen them in her new house.

Last Thursday, it was pouring so I thought it would be a good day for the kids to be in their carseats for a couple hours. We went to the old house and I walked through it one last time.

My mom saved pretty much everything she'd ever received and every nook and cranny of the house had been full.  Now it was completely empty.  The closets were cleared out. The pictures were off the walls. Every corner was open. The furniture gone. Very little was left behind.  A cricket chirped in the basement. My dad's pencil sharpener was still mounted to the wall where his desk had been.

My final walk through didn't take long. Maybe five minutes, but it was enough.

I am at peace.

My mother doesn't live here

More steps toward the inevitable.

Last Saturday, we packed up my mother's furniture and hauled it to her new house. My brothers and sisters spent the day arranging each piece in her new place, making everything convenient and inviting for her.

My husband installed her antique chandelier above her dining room table. My sister-in-law arranged her depression glassware in a china cabinet that I'd never seen anything but Christmas and birthday cards inhabit.
Familiar pictures found places on the walls and her refrigerator magnets were made comfortable on a new fridge door.

By the time we left with three exhausted kids, the new place had become her home. It looked like she lived there.

I haven't seen my mom's empty house yet.  I can't imagine walking in and not seeing the pictures of preserves around the kitchen or the family photographs covering the wall around the fireplace.  I think until I do, I won't believe that she doesn't live there anymore. But maybe, I only need to see her in her new house comfortable with her space.