Good-bye, Waycroft. (Part 2)

I opened the back door and stepped into the living room. Our empty living room. The sofa, the Hoosier cabinet, the new rug... all gone. I lost my breath. I walked into the middle of the room and felt the tears coming. The house that had been my home for more than 30 years was now a shell. As I walked across the floor, I heard the echo of my footsteps.

I wandered into the kitchen. The cupboards that once held bags of flour and canned goods were vacant. Countertops that once collected items from everyday living were bare. I ran my hand along the fridge - also empty. My mind raced back to our elementary school days when report cards and spelling quizzes covered the refrigerator, top to bottom.

In the dining room: no table, no china cabinet, no dishes, no chairs. All of that was now perfectly situated in my mother's beautiful new house. After our parents separated, our mother began having Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners at her house. We invited anyone who might not have had a place to go and, as everyone passed the sweet potatoes and turkey and dressing, a new kind of family was emerging. Right there. In our dining room. Now, all that was there to remind me was the green tiffany lamp hanging in the center of the room... just like it always had.

I turned my eyes to the left and saw the vast space in front of the fire place. The old den looks huge now that the big leather sofa and flat screen television have found new residences. As my eyes followed along the blank walls, I remember every spot that we had put the Christmas tree. The far corner by the front door. Directly in front of the center windows. In the other corner, by the fireplace. My heart was breaking.

I ventured upstairs, blinking back tears and fighting against my knotted stomach. Luckily, the movers spared me the last insult as I found my old bedroom still in tact, although I know that is momentary. But I glanced across the hall. The only thing that remained in my mother's bedroom was the indentations on the carpet where her antique brass bed used to be. My sister, Kristen, and I used to lay on the bed and look at each other through the bed rails, pretending like we were locked up in a jail cell. As I stood looking at the empty floor, I remembered the many nights of nightmares and sickness that prompted me to stand in that exact same spot, whispering to my mother, "Are you sleeping?" (She never was, ironically.)

The house felt so quiet. But, a new family was just months away from moving in. A mother, a father, a little boy, and two young girls. Soon, the voices of children would fill these hallways and rooms. If there was ever anything to stave off my breaking heart, it was the knowledge that this house would be a home again. And soon.

I am old enough to understand that nothing lasts forever and I am old enough to be happy for my mother who is over the moon in her new house. I want her to be happy, more than anything else. Leaving Waycroft is simple and bittersweet. I will remember this place in my head and heart.

As I pulled the door closed behind me, a tear slid down my face and a smile emerged. After all, life just goes on.

Here's to the next chapter...

Good-bye, Waycroft. (Part 1)

Saying good-bye is heartbreaking business.

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Truthfully, my mother had awaited this day for years now, but the prospects of moving had only become a reality in the last few months. She had been handed an unexpected gift: her dream house (owned by a friend of hers) was suddenly available. Ma couldn’t believe her luck. The possibility of this new house brought out a light in her eyes that I hadn’t seen in entirely too long. Finally, her day had come. The Mayflower trucks were on Waycroft Drive, emptying the home we had shared as a family for more than 30 years.

Instead of heading to Waycroft, I went to work. I tried not to think about what was happening in the old neighborhood. Ma called me a few times at my office. I could hear the excitement in her voice, ringing behind every word.

“It’s almost 11 and they’ve already got everything on the trucks! Just a table or two is all that is left!”

I forced a smile. “Well, good. I’ll bring lunch to you guys at the new place in an hour or so.” Deep down, I knew what was coming and I knew I wasn’t prepared. This was new.

After lunch was over, my sister, the professional horticulturist who so kindly drove into town the night before, went back outside to work on the courtyard and pond. My mom and her friend, Ginger, continued to direct traffic around the new house. Brass bed? Oh, yes, in the spare bedroom to the right. The leather sofa? Sitting room in the front. Dining room table? Under this chandelier, please. My mother was absolutely glowing.

Then it happened.

In between the placement of a chair and a table, I caught her attention. “I’m going to head to my house. Get out of these heels and grab a change of clothes. I’ll be right back.”

Then my mother said, “Oh, could you stop by the old house and grab a few things for me?”

“Sure.”

And then she rattled off a list: the vacuum cleaner, a dust ruffle, the kitchen garbage can. “No problem, Ma.”

She squeezed my hand. I kissed her forehead and quickly left. On the drive to my house, I couldn’t get passed the knot in my stomach. I left home when I was 18 and headed off to college. I never really returned home after that save for summer breaks and a few months post-graduation. I’ve owned a little house on the outskirts of Salisbury for nearly seven years now. My sister, Kristen, moved to Philadelphia more than three years ago. And, since our parents divorced seven years ago, Ma has been the only one in that house. She’s been the last one standing on Waycroft Drive.

On the drive to my old house, I was on auto-pilot. Driving this route was second-nature; I must have done this a thousand times in the past seven years. Six turns. A couple of miles. My new house to my old house. Over the bypass. Next to the graveyard. Down a country road snaked between two large cornfields. Passed the golf course. Oh, yes, I could do this drive blindfolded. I pulled in the driveway. Still just going through the motions. I was surprised that I felt a bit numb walking up the porch steps.

All that changed with the turning of a key.