The Deconstruction from Home to House
How Ordering a Dumpster can Topple Decades of the Life of a Family
It takes years to make a house a home, but all it takes is a dumpster and Home Depot boxes to turn it back to a house, the brick and mortar that sealed in the comfort, happiness and security.
My retirement was a decision to have enough time to begin the process of moving the family out of the home. This has been a well thought out decision that took years to get consensus from all.
My first two weeks of retirement were kind of fun. My life, my hours were my own. But reality had to sneak in my dreams, turning them into nightmares of anxiety, sadness and fear.
Although my dream came true to sell the house and move, the reality was quite the opposite. I knew I’d be the only one to organize, be the project manager and all, but it has been like herding cats to get stuff done. Too bad I don’t have Cinderella’s mice to help me get it together. This is huge for any family. And, to make matters worse, we are all moving to separate places.
Pack it up
Move to that log cabin in the woods
I walk past the picture frames of my sons hanging on the wall. All of the other picture frames are down but theirs. I usually pass them with a nod and a prayer but now I stop and stare. I knew their moods when they got the photos done. Of course, I placed every school year picture underneath the high school graduation picture.
From toddler to tuxedo
How can time pass with so few instructions?
The beautifully painted walls, now scarred from chairs, fists and nicks from a Christmas tree face me with framed echoes of faces and places of what once was. The naked picture hangers patiently stand strong within the walls, hoping for a new job with a new family. The painters will pull the plug on them with a DNR as they spackle away a life: a story, a family that was once present and proud.
Where does one start?
Purging is emotionally as tough as the nails on the wall before the painters arrive. To throw away items that rented space in your attic, for what? Why did we save it in the first place? And to ask the constant question of, “is this from your family or mine”?
But when are we supposed to enjoy the memories?
Our past is kept in memento boxes and trunks filled with pre-wedding dreams and quilts. When is it too late to enjoy the past? There is a blurred line between recognizing the past and doing away with it.
You hear all the time, “live in the present, forget the past and don’t worry about the future”! They never had blankies and stuffed kitties that kept the monsters away, or all of the baby teeth and locks of hair in special boxes. Where do they think the teeth went and who really was the Tooth Fairy?!
I smell his rugby shirts and look at the photos from Hawaii through my foggy lens of tears. I sort all of my black tie outfits to drop off at consignment shops.
Where are the instructions on how to deal with the uninvited feelings as you dive into memories you can touch?
I feel my beautiful velvet dress, and it brings back the moment at the American Scottish Foundation Gala where he held me around my waist and reeled to the sound of bagpipes, my lingering perfume still evident.
There are no instructions in my wheelhouse. They are not in a chapter in the Pre-Cana because you were supposed to always be together in sickness and in health.
Like Cinderella, my U Haul awaits me.
My sons packed it up, memories and all, making the truck heavier with the emotional luggage tagging along.
I will never forget the beautiful times, of how we turned every minute of the house into a home. The smell of Christmas cookies, the parties, the sleepovers, the hugs and kisses too many to count. A beautiful life including the ups and downs for that is what made a house a home.
I am ready to make new memories in my log cabin in the woods.
I have the key to the U Haul, the cabin key, but there is something missing.
I just cannot find my other shoe.
