Last February, Jon and I went up to Boston to my aunt Sarah's house for the very last time. We took a van to haul away the treasures and not-trash that would come to Virginia -- the cargo van was filled from front to back with furniture and toys and last-minute gadgets that Jim brought up from the basement to send to the farm. Sarah and Jim had already made the big move to their new residence, but they were still making a daily trip back to Brookline to sort and pack as much as they could, to make sure that the accumulations of a lifetime would not end up at the dump. It was a huge effort.
On that last trip to Brookline, Jon and I spent the night in the house by ourselves, in the guest room that long ago was Owen's bedroom. It was the first time I had ever slept there without my aunt in the house. It was spooky -- especially since she had left a video camera monitoring the sights and sounds as people came in the front door and in the kitchen. If she wanted to, she could watch us coming in after midnight and checking in the kitchen for a late night snack. The house was still provisioned with food for snacks and lunches, and there was still enough stuff around, despite all the moving that had already happened, for us to feel at home.
But when we drove out of the driveway for the last time, it felt momentous. I have been going to that house since I was a toddler, and quite regularly since graduating from college when I moved into the basement with my longtime roommate Sarah. When I met Jon shortly after that and brought him to Brookline, my aunt could see the possibilities immediately -- if we were to get married, that would mean we would be coming to visit his parents regularly and therefore we would be visiting her also. She congratulated us on the wisdom of our choice. She was right. We have been regular guests, and so have our children. All three of them have felt comfortable visiting there alone, like many many other young people. (When Benjamin broke his arm badly when he was living in Boston, he went to Sarah's house and settled in on her favorite couch for a week, allowing her to mother him, in the absence of his faraway mother.)
We are just a tiny blip on the screen, when it comes to the number of people who have lived in and visited that big old house in the last 60 years. In addition to her own four children, there were grandchildren and nieces and nephews and significant others and associates and grand-nieces and so on. We all have felt the loss, even though we are glad that Sarah and Jim made it safely to a home that didn't require them to fix the plumbing and deal with snow and pay the heating bill. I am not sure that any one of us has gone back up Walnut Street to see the house since it was sold. We are waiting until we feel ready.
After they moved, we were not homeless in Boston. We have good friends, and we have two daughters who welcome us and we had Lilah. For the last few years, when we made the trip to Boston, Jon stayed at his mother's apartment and slept on the air mattress that they kept in the closet. Sometimes I stayed there too. It reminded me of when we used to stay with Jon's parents in the house they all lived in together -- not exactly the same, but with many familiar furnishings.
But just a few days ago, Jon and I made yet another trip with a van to haul away another load of family treasures, bringing back boxes of photos and memorabilia, once again leaving a welcoming home for the last time. Jon's sisters also took some things that had meaning to them, and Alissa and Rebecca even found some clothes in their grandmother's closet that they will wear happily. Even though we are not really sentimental, especially compared to my brother Charles who was there for our last night of sorting and packing, we ended up keeping way more than we had expected. Charles added a different perspective to the task: "you have to keep this! No one has one of these anymore. Look at how cool it is!" I mean, he went through the collections of random keys and selected out the most interesting ones so we could keep them.
When we drove away from there last night, again there was that feeling of finality. It was different from the feeling of death. This is going to change our lives in ways we don't even know. We have lost both of our ancestral homes up there. We still have Sarah, and we have siblings and children, but we have to develop new home bases, without elders.
Coincidentally, we had one more reminder of finality to experience while we were there, on the same day we drove away from Lilah's for the last time. My aunt Sarah had chosen January 6 to have a memorial gathering for Jim, who died last summer -- just five months after he brought those tools up from the basement for Jon. We gathered in the ballroom at their retirement community (or whatever we call those places). In spite of the big snow storm and the high temperature of 5 degrees, people gathered from all over the country. Sarah told us the story of Jim's life, illustrated with heirlooms and photographs and humor. Alissa spoke, and it was impossible not to cry as she related how much Jim meant to her, and how honored she was to be his friend. Her cousin Emma, one year younger, was the other speaker, and she was eloquent. I found it so interesting that the two who spoke besides Sarah were both under 30 years old -- Jim was 83 when he died. He was a really special man who listened with all his attention and made everyone feel loved. He was a school guidance counselor for a big portion of his life, and he was undoubtedly a great one. And because he was musical and loved to sing, we all sang at this celebration. It is hard to sing when you are crying. I have learned that before -- my cousin told me the secret is to look up and don't look anyone in the eye. Whenever we get together with those cousins, we sing. Our repertoire is old but amazingly intact, with harmonies.
You might think we would be sad, with all these losses. We are. But it all feels right, at the same time. Our elders have lived long and full lives, made good choices, and loved their people well. We are just a generation behind them, and learning from them. One lesson is clear: we have got to be more disciplined about choosing what to accumulate in our house. If we ever have to move, it is going to be such a big job. We should get serious about this (especially now that we have just brought in another load). Another lesson: don't ask Charles to help sort and toss. He is way too entertained by each and every discovery.
Loss and love go together. It's just the way it is.
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