This week I closed on property that had been part of my life for almost a dozen years. Closed as in ... cleared out, cleaned out, moved the utilities to another’s name. It is strange to me that whether you buy or sell a house, you still use the word close for the ending action. I have never been a fan of good-byes, always crying at the likes of “Snoopy, Come Home” or “The Tigger Movie” where Tigger utters the phrase, “T.T.F.E. Ta. Ta. For. Ever.” Get the towel please. I am blubbering over here.
On Sunday, I hauled away a final load and made a pass through a house and garage that I was once so happy to own. Time slips by, leaving joy and wreckage along the right of way.
At this space and place once called home ...
my former husband and I slept on a mattress on the floor so excited to have bought this property.
my older daughter Riley lost her first tooth while brushing before bedtime on her 5th birthday.
my younger daughter Ryann came home as an infant.
my mother planted tiny Crepe Myrtles that now tower above my head.
Santa and Rudolph came with Big Wheels and Barbies on their sleigh.
dreams were conceived and attempted, some reached, some failed.
Goodnight Moon was whispered in the shadows of a crib.
blankets were drug along floors.
we lost our dog Denver.
promises and hearts were broken.
a marriage unraveled.
the scent of aftershave, race car, Dial soap, hardwork, and desperation lingers in the walls.
hope was released.
memories wait for a visit.
I don’t know how you ever really close off parts of your life. I think Carole King’s song at the beginning of “A League of their Own,” sums it up:
Now and forever you are a part of me
And the memory cuts like a knife
Didn't we find the ecstasy
Didn't we share the daylight
When you walked within my life.
Every place we live, everything we touch, every person we know, we collect into our lives. Forever they are a part of us ... even after the closing.