That Was Then and This Is Now

For the past week my siblings and I have been doing a final clean up of our parents 'old homestead'. We made a pact not to dwell on anything we come across that might cause us to detain the job at hand. It's so easy to pick up something and stand poised while the memories flood the room. Like the brightly colored metal tray Mother used to keep pecans in that she'd gathered from the back yard. The nut cracker was always there with them so she would have it handy to open a few pecans to throw into a dish she was making. Or the small tool my father kept handy to fix absolutely anything. It didn't matter what it was, when it broke or didn't work, he magically put it back together, fixing it better than it's original state.

Few things remain now. What to do with Mother's Pfaff sewing machine which has turned into a beautiful antique? So many frilly dresses she made on it for my sister and I when we were little. It's drawers still hold small spools of thread that spun through metal parts as they pieced together the frocks she was so proud of. As I walk out of the room still deeply in thought about it, my brother comes around the corner with our father's Air Force hat in hand. "Do either of you want this?", he quietly says. In unison, my sister and I say, "No, that's something a son should have.". The three of us quickly turn and go in opposite directions so as not to allow each other to see the tear. Remembering our pact, we assure one another that the little house Mother now lives in is what matters, and Daddy surely is smiling down on us as we continue our duty.

The next day draws us outside as we stand and try to decide what to do with the huge Azalea bushes. Once the pride of the neighborhood, they are choked with vines and an unidentifiable tree which has made a home in the middle of them. It's branches have taken over and robbed the Azaleas of life. About the time we decide it's going to take us all day to clean it out, my husband drives up and, seeing our perplexed looks, says, "I'll be right back!". Knowing full well where he's going, we stand there for a moment and then break out in laughter. The invasive tree is about to meet the wrath of his chain saw. And with it, we know that everything else in his path will also be leveled. Those Azaleas are about to receive a 'hair cut' like never before! The next hour consists of us dragging branches to the curb while the neighbors have pulled up chairs on their porches to watch the commotion. Their eyes bugged out at this crazy man with his chain saw who, at the moment, looks as if he'd chase anyone down who told him to stop. As nature would have it in the South, we know in a couple of months, the green branches of the Azaleas will have grown to the point of bearing next Spring's blooms. Hopefully to the enjoyment of a new owner whose family will fill the house with their own memories.

So, there we have it. Another chapter in our lives almost closed. Albeit the house held a very large portion of our young lives, we must move on. Our own families deserve our time now, and one day they will face the same decisions we just made. Time has a way of doing that. Forcing us to decide what to leave behind and what to make a part of the present so that others can enjoy touching what only hands from the past can tell them. We hold close that which remains in our hearts until the time to share it with our children who we have all three raised to cherish what they feel is worthy. As much as human nature doesn't want to admit the fact, it will not be our decision any longer, but those who replace us. And if we teach them to value family history, we know our memories are in very good hands.

Always~
Cha