Warning, this is an emotional post that is horribly organized as it was written stream of consciousness...
It's been a weird weekend. My grandpa is having knee replacement surgery soon and the rehab that will come with that, along with various other reasons, spurred them to move to be closer to their daughters. Ultimately, it is a good thing for them, but I hate it. I'm really sad. I'm an emotional sap, a sucker for tradition and huge into the preservation of my (all important) memories. I moved from Texas cross-country a month before my senior year of highschool (thus, my parents no longer live in the house I grew up in)...I feel like I'm losing the last piece of my childhood as my grandparents leave the home they have lived in for 40 years. Selfish? Sure.
As I drove over to help pack yesterday I was fighting back tears. There is something so weird and sad and wrong about going through things that were loved and lived with by someone you love that they no longer need. I felt so pulled by my need to purge (and not take a bunch of stuff I don't really *need*) and then felt an almost stronger need to save things. Old skeleton keys, old wire shopping baskets, ancient whisks...they are a piece of history. Of my history. At one point I had to escape to my Papa's bathroom to cry and try and pull myself together (added bonus, it's the coolest place in the house...) and finally just went to the attic to clean that out and let my sweat blend into my tears (it was approximately 937 degrees up there. Miserable).
I can't really put in to words (maybe because I can't articulate yet) all of the feelings I have about this move. After the attic I packed pictures and frames. There was literally a lifetime of pictures--from way before my time to recent pictures of my kids. This home has contained so many precious days--memories, traditions, meals, family. At the risk of sounding completely cheesy...I feel like this move is an end of something. Maybe it's watching the circle of life, remembering my grandparents how they were when I was a kid and then seeing them age and need to be closer to their daughters. Maybe it's me finally admitting that I'm aging, or worse, that my parents are aging and that time marches on (and there isn't a dang thing I can do about it) and that one day I'll be walking this road with them. My heart hurts for my grandparents--I can't imagine the emotions they are facing at leaving the home they have lived in and loved for so long, a lifetime of memories. Then I get all introspective and imagine moving from the home where Chris and I raise our kids, marry them off and retire in, to a small "more practical" option.
I guess we are left with the sadness of life to remind us that this isn't our home...heaven sure is looking better and better.
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2 comments:
Now you have me weeping again.
Mom
That made me tear up too reading it, and think back to moving my Gran out of her house 10 years ago. It is hard to seperate the memories from the 'stuff' - and I see my mom and I hold on to a lot from her old house. It was only when we moved this May i had to seperate some out in terms of practicality vs. sentamentality.
It does feel kind of like the 'end of an era' for the last of that generation to move out of their long-time home, but like you said, it is best for them, and makes us realize how much things have changed since we were little. Thinkiing about you and your branch of the family tree in this time.
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