Good-bye, House...

 

Good-bye,  House…We’ll Never Forget You

Most of you know that my father passed away in May and we held his funeral on June 1^st. If you hadn’t heard that news, here’s the link to that blog post: https://katiekolbergmemmel.blogspot.com/2023/06/saying-good-bye-to-my-dad.html    

Celebrating Dad's 99th b-day

What many of you don’t know is that Dad still lived in his house until shortly before he died. He personally began building it for our growing family back in 1954. I remember my older siblings talking about the early days of living there. My parents moved in before the second story was finished, so my brother and sister shared the bedroom off the kitchen. When my next brother was born, Mom and Dad simply added his crib to a corner of their own bedroom until the upstairs work was complete in ‘56. Life went on until several years later when in August of ’61, yours’ truly appeared on the scene. That house was the only one I lived in until the day I married Todd in 1981. It’s been a part of my life for… well… for my whole life!  

Before he fell, I often talked with Dad about how his “end days” might play out, and how he thought things should be handled after he was gone. He advised that if nobody in the family wanted to buy the house, I should sell it. He knew I had worked on the administrative side of real estate for many years, and that I had a friend or two in the business. He trusted I’d handle the sale without any trouble.

My father had never been a pack rat. That said, he was 100 years old, and had not moved since building the place, 70 years prior. Let’s simply say he’d accumulated quite a few things, especially when you factor in that he was from the generation who’d lived through the Depression. He didn’t like to throw out or waste anything that might have a use some day.

After the funeral, I spent lots of time at the house, detailing each room’s contents, and weighing out the best way to empty each. I started by making an announcement to the family. “If anybody wants something, tape your name on the item. If more than one person wants it, we’ll figure it out.” (For the record, no two people ever wanted the same item). I was often present as our loved ones came through the house. I felt privileged to witness their tears, as sweet memories spilled out. “I remember holidays when we’d play ping pong in the basement…” “Remember when Grandma baked cookies with me…?” “Remember the games of basketball on the driveway…?” On and on...  

Slowly, the items were taken from the house, which then left me with decisions to make about the rest. The Salvation Army came and picked up some clothes, dishes, and furniture. I only became emotional once. It was when the movers carried my father’s brown leather recliner out the front door. I could still envision him sitting in it, all of us gathered to celebrate his 99th birthday. How many sports teams had he watched on TV from that perch? Movies? I must admit that the sight of it leaving made my throat close and my eyes mist. But… there was still work to do. We made many trips to Goodwill (and yes, even to the dump). Todd cleaned the basement, then packed up and boxed paint brushes, nuts and bolts, and any/everything else that was scattered around Dad’s workroom. One brother faithfully took care of the lawn and flowers. My oldest brother and my sister seemed to enjoy sorting through the numerous boxes of photos and news clippings that had accumulated. As we laughed, reminisced and even rolled our eyes, we created a pile of pictures for each of us, plus a stack to go through “later”.  

As I waited through the probate process, I received many phone calls, as well as a large amount of written correspondence, from realtors and “we-buy-houses-for-cash” businesses. I really didn’t want to sell our family home that way - to someone who only wanted it to turn it around and re-sell. Rather, I wanted a buyer who would enjoy living there, and who'd make the needed repairs because he/she liked the place. I received a couple of offers from those cash dealers, but just couldn’t see our family going that route. Before I listed the house, I asked my realtor friend for advice about the process. In the end, and to my delight, it was his son who purchased the house. In my opinion, the deal was a win/win – a young man who liked the home and neighborhood, and wanted to live there.

The phone was in the corner by the fridge

With a solid buyer in the wings, I knew our days at the house were numbered. I found myself looking more closely at every room, closet, cabinet and drawer. Talk about a trip down Memory Lane! I remembered back to when I’d sit in the kitchen, talking to my friends (and eventually Todd) for hours on our family’s one phone. I remembered friends standing by the backdoor in the kitchen, talking with Mom and Dad while I finished getting ready to go out. I remembered special occasions like Homecoming dances, when my date picked me up. We exchanged corsages and boutonnieres, then took pictures near the piano. I reminisced about walking out to our old mailbox, hoping and praying that in amongst the water and electric bills, I’d receive a letter from a pen pal or current love interest. And I remembered the Thanksgiving when Todd and I sat on the couch, and announced our engagement to my whole family.

My room and closet where I "hid" my journal

My biggest memory of the house itself will probably be my upstairs bedroom. After my sister got married, Mom and Dad let me move up to her old room. How many homework assignments had been completed there? How many books read? How many notes had I written to friends? Most importantly, that room was where I started journaling; not just about where I’d been that day or what we’d had for supper. No. I started journaling about the real stuff – the “who, what, where, when and why” of teenage life. Every night before bed I wrote my thoughts about it all, then hid the ever-growing pages in a shoebox in my closet. Had I really thought that was a good hiding place for such precious thoughts? Yes, for some reason I had.

And so… after the house was emptied out and cleaned by us for the last time, I signed the paperwork that permanently ended our family’s time there. It had to happen sometime. Was I ready? Yes… and no. Is anyone ever fully ready to let go of such a large part of their history? Their life?   

But I can say that just as love and care had been shown to each of us in that house over the past 70 years, first from our parents, then finally from our dad; love and care was given through our preparation of selling it, too.

Mom and Dad

Each of the four of us got the opportunity to walk through, take pictures, and say good-bye one final time. I was last. 

“Good-bye, Mom, good-bye, Dad. Good luck, old house. May you thrive with your new owner. Love, your one-and-only family… well, to this point, anyway. We’ll never forget you."  

Then… I closed the door.

 

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of three books: her recently-updated “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference – 10-Year Anniversary Edition, now with Photos”; “Silly Stories and Sentimental Stuff”; and “From This Day Forward…” All are available in paperback as well as electronic versions. For more information about Katie and her writing, please go to her website: www.katiekolbergmemmel.com