Wow! Today is my SITS Day, and wouldn’t you know it? I wrote down the wrong day. So I am totally unprepared for you here, visiting my blog. But no worries! Welcome! Don’t mind the dust and clutter. I’m glad you’re here and so honored to be the featured blogger on SITS Girls.
I’ve walked this road before, this dusty trail strewn with a few left over pebbles from the childhood of my life. It’s one of my favorite places on earth; and in my heart as well. I wonder where this road is taking me now.
Mere words cannot express what this picture speaks to me, the longings of my heart
A barn, my grandfather’s barn, that holds my heart as I stand and gaze from the place I’ve stood so many times before. This sight is forever etched in my mind, but the photo conjures up the feelings that are buried deep within my soul, the longings of which can never be fulfilled again.
My grandparents passed away a year apart from each other, my grandma leaving this world first. They have both been gone for about eight years now. It goes without saying, I suppose, how I miss them, how I think of them often, especially those childhood moments I spent at their farm.
The house was grand, but only in my mind. It was simple, a farm house; functional, homey, comfortable and lived in. The drive on the road and that exact spot where I would catch the first glimpse of the house so warm and inviting still causes my heart to skip and takes me back to those days long ago.
The smells of cooking always lingering; from the Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls baking in the morning, (and the time I ate all of them by myself…yes I did and yes my grandma let me!), to the hamburgers frying for lunch and whatever she placed on the table for dinner, all served with love.
The house still stands, but not so proud and tall anymore. It is empty, even though their stuff still filled the rooms and closets, and walls, up until a few months ago, for we have spent this year emptying it of all these things. It is time. Maybe past time. In truth, it has been empty for many years because those who made the house a home were no longer there.
Or so I thought.
The stuff is a façade that keeps you hooked into the belief that you can go home again, you can go back. It is still there, just like they left it. It is tangible proof that they existed, the lives they wove together into the legacy they left behind is evidenced in the many pictures, documents, saved letters, notes, drawings and scribbled I Love Yous on homemade cards. And the proof is there for all to see, but they themselves are not.
The proof! What do you do with the stuff they lovingly accumulated during the lifetime of their togetherness, the things that meant so much that were folded and tucked away and carefully stored for safekeeping?
The house, for all practical purposes, is empty now, not totally, but soon to be so.
The memories are here in this child’s eye of my mind, but the proof is not.
And sadder still is the house will be sold when all is said and done. This place that my heart yearns for from those yesteryears…gone.
And that makes me very sad.
I lost my grandma when she had a stroke that left her unable to communicate with those she loved for eleven years.
I lost her again when she passed away.
I lost her again when my grandfather died, the link that let us hold a part of her near.
I lost her as we sifted and sorted and went through her things, though I was too occupied to notice, or so I told myself.
And now…I lose her for good as the place I love so well is no longer what it was.
There will be one final losing as I grip firmly onto the time I have left, when the house and the farm that is as much a part of me as the air I breathe is sold to the highest bidder.