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.