Closing a House in the Heartland
Closing a House in the Heartland
by Alice Jane-Marie Massa
How do two daughters
close a house–
not just a house–
our home, blessed Blanford home,
where our parents lived
most of their nearly 55 years together,
where Mary and I grew and graduated,
and where our extended family celebrated life?
“We have to go to Blanford
and close the house.”
“Yes, we sold the house.”
Words from seventeen years ago
make me wonder how we did close that house.
My parents’ bedroom furniture went to Colorado;
Mary and my bedroom suit from younger days came to Milwaukee.
Two sets of dishes and an old Underwood typewriter went to my sister;
the grandfather clock and piano came to me.
My townhouse welcomed the French provincial sofa and chair,
the book shelves and dining room table.
How I remember the seemingly never-ending
boxing of books and photo albums.
Then, decorated primarily in cardboard boxes,
the house seemed so sadly empty.
I had never seen our home
in such a state–so raw, so bare.
Why did we leave the cedar chest
for the new owners?
I can still smell that soothing scent
from that huge hope chest.
Why did we leave
the corner china cabinet?
Why did we leave the views from all those windows?
Why did we walk away from that front porch?
How could we leave those maple trees,
the sweet peas climbing over the fence,
the field and woods
and white-rock driveway,
violets by the water pump,
irises and lilies-of-the-valley,
my father’s gardens,
and the places
where my parents’ footprints
and heartprints
still nurture
a home, sweet home?
Changes and new chapters
lead us to other channels of life,
but we are so often riding
on those roads of reminiscences.
How blessed we are
that the family who now lives there
takes such good care of
our home.
When my sister and I return
to visit Indiana,
she drives by our home in the Heartland
again and again, enough times for us
to be considered stalkers of the past.
“How tall is the blue spruce now?
Is the swing still on the porch?”
I ask my sister;
then, she takes the scenic route and drives
past memories again.
One may close a house,
but one never closes
a home
in the Heartland.
With thanks to you
for riding along with me on The Road of Reminiscences via my Wordwalk blog,
Alice and Zoe
February 24, 2016, Wednesday
alice13wordwalk 
How well you have captured that heartbreaking feeling that leaving a special place brings to each of us. It somehow feels so disloyal and disrespectful yet it is a task that must be undertaken. I can see that driveway and picture the familiar flowers. How you were shaped by that loving home is something that nothing’s nag can erase. That’s the best part. Beautiful captured memories once again, Alice!
Fran–I am touched by your comment and appreciate your thoughtful addition to my post. Hoping you aren’t getting too much snow! Take care–Alice
Alice. I have often written about how a home, a family, gives strength, passion and love to any structure that is lucky enough to wrap itself around the hopes and dreams of a family. No matter where my parents or siblings live, when I go to visit them, I am going home. There’s no better feeling in the world, and I hope your memories lift you up through a lifetime of cherished moments.
Great post! dp
Deon–Thank you for your up-lifting comment. Hoping that all is well in Maine today–Alice
Alice this really touched my heart. It is so well done. Within a 2-year period, my Mother, younger brother, and two aunts died. Bob and I and our girls cleaned out three of those houses – and not only is it so much physical labor, it is the emotional weight of loss that hits the hardest. I have written some poems about some of the deaths and the aftermath, the shifting of the terrain of our entire life. This brought all my own experiences and thoughts back so strongly to me. Thank you! Lynda
Lynda–Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts and experiences. Your phrase “shifting of the terrain” is an expressive way of describing the situation. Take care! Blessings–Alice
Dear Alice,
This poem brings tears to my eyes and longing to my heart. Truthfully, I don’t know how we did what we did! We were in a state of shock after the sudden loss of our beloved dad and the realization that mother could no longer live in their home and we could not give our home the necessary care from many miles away. Somehow we divided and packed so many treasures and opened the doors for another family to be happy there. Thank you for being the keeper of years of precious memories and for sharing them so beautifully in your writing.
Love, Mary
Alice — When I read this last week, I was too rushed to comment, but I have been thinking about it all week. Like yours, my parents never moved from the house they built while we were growing up. After my father’s death, my mother moved in with us. Luckily for the family, my sister and her husband bought the family place, so for now, it is still in the family. Your descriptions of the lilies of the valley, irises, etc. made me so hungry for spring, and as a person who loves growing things, I know when I have to leave this home, the flowers will be the hardest of our things to leave behind.
Thanks for sharing–Sue
Yes, I remember that sad day very well. The monumental task of moving and leaving behind is very hard for most, but you and Mary have wonderful memories to cherish from the past and comfort from the present.