A Sad Day!

Last night when I came home, I found a note that rocked me to the core of my being. It was not a long or malevolent note. It was not bad news in the traditional sense. However the words stuck in my mind all night long and I find myself almost paralyzed by them.

The note from my son simply said. You need to give your brother a call. Memae (Pronounced like the English version of Renée, mem-ay, means Grandmother) has decided to move into a retirement home and she wants to know what you want out of the house. It was no surprise as my mom has been talking about making the move for years. She is 86 now and managing the house on her own has just become too much for her. Especially in the last two years when her health has not been as robust as it once was.

You see, until two years ago my mother was able to mow her own lawn and to shovel the snow in her driveway. She kept the place immaculately clean and maintained every corner of the property in a meticulous way. But more recently osteoporosis has taken its’ toll on her body and now she is not able to stand for more than a few minutes at a time without pain.

For many people in today’s mobile American culture someone moving out of a home either to another home or into a retirement facility may not be such a big deal. But for our family, this is a huge undertaking and an enormous change. You see, my parents bought that place 51 years ago when I was only three months old.

For them, it was the realization of the American dream. My dad was in his 40’s and my mom in her mid 30’s when they were finally able to have a home of their own. It is the only home that I remember at all, and the only place any of my three older siblings really call home. It is home in the strongest Currier and Ives, Thomas Kincaid, Little House on the Prairie definition of the word (maybe with a little Irish Kennedy clan and Roseanne thrown in for good measure).

For over 50 years, we have celebrated every cookout, every Christmas, every wedding, every funeral, every birthday, every fourth of July, every Easter and every other event of any kind in that little house on Highland Street. There are more memories packed into that house than I think it’s little frame could ever hold.

So many memories and family stories. My dad chasing my brother in law off with a shotgun (before he married my sister of course). My brother stopping his motorcycle too fast on the wet lawn and flying over the handlebars. My sister and brother in law bringing home the first grand baby to visit for the first time. Raking leaves and pine needles and jumping in the piles! The impromptu 4^th of July neighborhood party that started with dad taking the record player outside and sticking a few flairs along the driveway. Throwing mom and dad into the pool on hot summer days. My dad dying on the roof of the garage while making repairs. The day I told my mom I am gay.

Every positive and negative aspect of family life, all rolled up in one little cottage on one little street in what used to be one tiny American town. The list of stories goes on and on, even up until last week when my mother saw the birth of her first great-great granddaughter. If you knew everything that happened there, it would make you laugh and cry and it would make you wonder how on earth this clan managed to stay together. Like my mom sometimes said, if these walls could talk, what a story they would tell.

And now, because of age and time and human frailty, it’s all being taken away. I find myself wondering how my mother must feel as she leaves her home to spend her remaining days in an assisted living facility. Living in a place where the days are spent wondering who will be next to go, instead of looking forward to the next adventure life has to offer.

I don’t even know how to express the intense feelings that I have inside. Concern for my mom, feeling of great loss, feeling like our family history has been ripped away from us. My only desire right now is to cry, and somehow, that does not seem to be enough to express all that is moving around inside! But I can tell you this, cherish who and what you have now, because you never really know when it will all change!