Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat Christmas Contest – Ina Townsend Young

December 26, 2006

Goodbye Home

Ina Townsend Young

My house is for sale.  MY house. .  I have a wonderful new life.  A wonderful new house.  But, that was MY house. 

That was where I raised my babies to adulthood, alone.  That was the Handyman’s Special that I bought 22 years ago, never dreaming that I’d be the handyman.  That was the house I fought to keep when we were forced into bankruptcy, when I was forced to go on welfare.  The house that I “updated” with scraps and paint for so many years.  The house that I was eventually able to afford “real” updates for.  I put in a whole new kitchen.  New carpeting.  Three new porches.  Eighteen windows and three doors.  New siding.  New shutters.  New gutters and guttercaps. I bought new furniture that I had no room to bring to my new home. 

I landscaped.  Put in trees and fire pits.  The sandstone patio that I carted in alone and put in by myself.  The flowers I planted.  I have to leave behind the lilacs and peonies and hydrangeas and dogwood and roses and daylilies.  I have most of this anew, now, but it’s not the same as the stuff I did myself.  I was told I had the prettiest front yard on the street.  It’s been dormant for over a year, and not just from the seasons.  No one has loved it or tended it.  It hurts my heart to see it so neglected.

The house sits vacant.  I cleaned everything out of it, but it’s not empty.  It echoes with memories.  Every corner, nook and cranny screams at me.  I hear the taunts and teases of my kids as they ran in the back door.  “Mom!  Lisa is looking at me again!”  “Matt keeps sticking his feet in my face!”  “Make Kristin stop!”  The sounds are real to my ears as I walk through the deserted rooms. 

I see the Christmas tree in the bay window, all aglow and sparkling.  I see the mounds of wrapping paper and ribbon and boxes strewn all over the living room.  I see the Thanksgiving table set up, with card table extensions for the kids all the way into the living room.  I hear the laughter and joy emanating from my family for 22 years of holidays and birthdays.

I see babies playing in the clawfoot bathtub.  They gently morph from my own to my grandbabies.  I see where grandbabies colored on walls.  I see the family pictures climbing the stairwells.

I go by a certain spot and look to check myself in the mirror.  The mirror is no longer there.  I look to check the time on the clock on the living room wall, forgetting it has been moved long ago. I walk in the back door and try to keep the cat from getting out.  The cat’s been moved for over a year.  There’s nothing here but memories.

I get teary eyed when I think of all the realtors bringing people through.  People who will pick it apart and say it needs this and that and this.  They won’t see the Christmas tree or the scribblings on the wall or the flower beds in their full glory.  Those only remain in photographs and my memory.  They won’t see the changes I’ve made, single-handedly, over the years.  They won’t see the babies in the bathtub.

While I totally embrace my new life and new home, I must mourn the passing of my accomplishment.  I must mourn the passing of the family home.  I must mourn the passing of my children’s childhoods.  Houses hold so much more than furnishings.

Ina Townsend Young

mimisuzy127@yahoo.com