The end of an era approaches in Daydreaming on the Porch

The construction workers, have started repairs on the house ahead of its sale later this Spring. With the market the way it is, I’m told it could go in under 48 hours, with a bidding war to boot.

It’s been quite a week. Junk haulers carried off mattresses and boxsprings, chairs and a freezer that never worked ($100 fee just for that). The gardeners are beginning a three-stage plan to get the front and side gardens ready. The estate sale crew is setting up and staging in every room of Mom’s house (3,000 sq ft) and every one of them will be filled with antiques, fine and very old porcelains and china, furniture, mirrors, antique boxes, framed botanical and bird prints and 38 of my framed photos from past exhibits. I’m very excited about that because I didn’t know it would be happening.

My sister said that when she looks at the estate sale Web site and sees photos of most of Mom’s beautiful furniture and china, it breaks her heart. She accompanied Mom on many of her forays to antique shops when she was young and in school, and later as an adult, so she knows the stories behind each piece.

The house is empty of all my stuff that was packed in there over many years. All of Mom’s belongings that are not in the estate sale are gone.

I am finally settled in my new apartment. It’s turned out to be quite cozy now that I have furnished it and filled it with many of my hundreds of books and funky gewgaws and treasures. I’ve actually lived there for about a week now. Such a great kitchen and appliances, everything so new and clean, a bit different from what I was used to. The location is absolutely perfect in an area of the city I’m very familiar with, and very near three of my favorite places to eat, and also a block from the shopping center where I shop for groceries. There’a Greenway for daily exercise walking for as long or short a time as I want.

But it’s continuing to be a very difficult time emotionally. My mother has been gone for two years now but the true meaning of grief, with all its manifestations, has set in with a depth and finality I wasn’t prepared for.

At the house last night loneliness closed in on me rather quickly, but nothing too deep. I walked through this much-loved place in a sort of daze, knowing there are fewer and fewer days left to be here and visit. The house sits emptier quieter and more sad with each passing day. It senses the end of this family era — mom’s house, and our family house or homestead, if you will, for 25 years. She loved it so. I do, too. I try not to think about the last day here. I can’t even imagine. The shades are pulled up in my bedroom upstairs. It’s empty now except for a few pieces of furniture, such a total contrast to the cluttered room that was my book m-filled sanctuary for years. Yes, there was way too much in there, but now empty, I just sit in the blue chair in the corner and sadly can’t believe how I’ll soon be gone never to enter this house again.

The entrance to the side garden:

https://flic.kr/p/2n956Rz