Good Night, Old House

Such a strange night. I lay on the floor looking up and out the window into the low-hanging coastal clouds lit dimly by the City of Torrance lights. The cool breeze blows through the opened windows as I drift in and out of memories. I should go to sleep, tomorrow will be a big day, but the nostalgic in me can't help but allow my mind space to wander...

Tomorrow is moving day.

My grandparents bought this home in 1955, my dad was three-years-old. This is the place I've celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving for 43-years and the place I knew I could drop in at any time to find my grandparents. My grandma's favorite color is green, so imagine every rug, curtain, couch in various shades of green. Life at 21905 Evalyn wasn't always easy - my grandparents have known quite a bit of pain. I'd like to say these walls have been filled with laughter and joy, but unfortunately, my experience here has been a mix of a variety of emotions and experiences. Regardless, it has been home-base for my grandparents, 89 and 86, and now it is time to say good-bye to this place. I wonder what my grandparents are thinking?

I struggle finding the right words to help them pack tonight...is there anything I can say to make this easier? I hurt watching them wrestle with their bodies that are turning against them...is there anyway I can help bring dignity and grace to their aging? What do they pack? What should they give away? What memories will need to be shredded? I wonder what my grandparents are thinking?

Such a surreal experience - looking at black-and-white photos of relatives I've never met. I don't know their story or how their story connected to mine. I found a drawer filled with funeral programs from years of friends passed. I wonder what my grandparents are thinking?

The walls are bare - only faded rectangles of memories where pictures, cross-stitches or decorations once hung. Soon, only indentions will be on the carpet - the shadow of lives lived well. The northern wall which kept watch over the piano will soon be empty, leaving whispers of hymns and Beethoven. 

 

"Oh, it's just a house, Connie." So true, just a house. Yet I've learned I'm a person moved by space. "Just a house" to some, but my childhood to me, and a lifetime to my grandparents.

Tomorrow my sister and I will help my grandparents say goodbye to their home, their church, their friends - the only life they've known - and move to Fresno. I imagine they are afraid. I imagine they are uncertain. My dad, brother, uncle and brother-in-law will stay behind loading up the last bit of furniture into the moving truck. 

I lay here and pray for our drive "home." I can't begin to understand what they will be feeling tomorrow. I pray God comforts their grieving hearts and gives my sister and I the words, hugs and encouragement they need to transition well. Before the rush of getting them into the car, I pray they can say good-bye well. I am nervous about our drive, but I know God is faithful - His presence is constant and His love is unwavering. I know He is good and will be with us...I wonder what my grandparents are thinking...

Good night, Old House, and thank you.