A Final Farewell

Even though I hadn’t lived there in over fifty years, I still called it Home.

Created by Dall-E from author’s prompt

It’s the last day, the day before the real estate sign goes up, and I’m taking my time walking through the empty rooms.

I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it vacant. It’s odd the flashes of images that suddenly appear in now empty corners — furniture that sat unmoved for fifty years, the old piano that I banged on when I was ten, the bookcase that held my Christmas stocking until I was nine.

Earlier that morning, I’d watched as relatives and friends loaded their pickups with furniture, appliances, and the few remaining personal items not sold at the estate sale. The things they left, out-of-date clothing, worn shoes, and mismatched glassware, were dropped off at Goodwill. There’s a sad irony in seeing treasures from the past — things my parents had willingly traded their money for — gathered up and thrown in a box because no one wants them.

I check my watch, remembering the schedule, the appointments, and the papers that need to be signed. Important things. Things that should take priority over reminiscing about an old house.

But as I take one last look at the bare living room walls where the family pictures once hung, the memories pull me back to a time when life unfolded…