Life is full of change and transitions, often painful and emotional, but also full of opportunities for growth and newfound happiness in Daydreaming on the Porch

It’s been three months since I moved from Mom’s house downtown where I lived, and both worked full time and was caregiver for her during her last years as she suffered the effects of dementia, old age and infirmity. I was at the house last night packing up the last of the small items in the two downstairs closets.

It is virtually empty now. My footsteps echo noticeably in the empty rooms as I walk through them, upstairs and down, as if a living ghost. I feel confident that Mom’s spirit has now finally departed this beautiful home she loved so much, once filled with so many lovely antiques, 18th and 19th century furniture, oriental rugs, and carefully collected and treasured china and silver. All gone now, either sold at the estate sale or tucked away in storage or at my apartment. But the house is filled with so many memories of family visits and the many friends she once had.

Perhaps the hardest part of clearing the house a year after the pandemic set in was going through and emptying Mom’s closet. I would have done it, but it would have been an especially painful task. It was left exactly as it had been all those years I was in and out of there so frequently, taking from the dresser in the mornings and putting back in place each evening when I got her ready for bed, her clothes and personal belongings. Fortunately, my sister, who was here from Seattle, and was very close to my mother, as only a mother and daughter can be, took upon herself the emotional task of emptying Mom’s bedroom, including the closet, a large armoire, and bathroom drawers and cabinets which held all her jewelry and so many little items that we saved and which mean so much to both of us. That was last summer. I tackled the other rooms in the house during the following year up until this past week actually. There were so many things in the house and so much of sentimental value my sister and I wanted to save.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, it feels strange being in the house, ghostly even, for the hallways and rooms don’t at all look like the same house as when it was fully furnished. My room, the study, and the back bedroom upstairs took a particularly long while to clear out — months, actually — as I organized my books, belongings, and memorabilia from six decades to an apartment that had less than a third the space, and also into a large, frightfully expensive climate-controlled (barely) storage unit that I am very anxious to downsize from. Soon.

I’m comfortable in my new place, and I feel more or less settled, relieved that the closing on the house will occur soon, and I won’t have to pay any more huge property tax and insurance bills. There was m no way I could have done that even if I had somehow stayed on at the house, which I would have loved to do and spend my last years there. But that was not to be.

I do miss my old neighborhood and all the beautiful streets and parks, but I’m only ten minutes from them, and continue to visit them often. That won’t change, and it brings me great happiness.

I’m taking as many, if not more, photographs then I ever did. My new “apartment home” is very quiet and set in a lovely natural area of tidal creeks, ancient live oaks, and marshes. I have many walking options. All my favorite restaurants and stores are very nearby. But as nice as this is, it lacks the sounds of a vibrant neighborhood. At Mom’s house, I could sit out on the porch and hear people talking as they walked down the sidewalk. A college is nearby so I often heard students with their youthful energy and enthusiasms. I didn’t feel as old. I enjoy the quiet where I live now and sitting in my old faithful rocking chair on the balcony watching sunsets.

Everything comes full circle, in a sense. After 12 years in a house in a vibrant neighborhood, I’m back in an apartment, the type of dwelling I’ve had most of my adult life.

I have a lot to be grateful for, and the sadness is gradually diminishing.

I took this set of photos during a walk in my old neighborhood recently:

https://www.flickr.com/gp/camas/v8Xg3Y