My Dad has moved out of the house I grew up in and it's now on the market.
I looked it up on MLS and was kind of sad to see the empty rooms.
I haven't lived there in 16 years but it was where I spent my childhood.
Memories of my mother are unavoidable. She spent her final days there - as well as her healthy, happy ones.
My Dad is 80 now and he and his girlfriend have moved on to a new place - she got a a great, well-paying job and I think for her it's an opportunity to not live in a house that's filled with ghosts, but one that she can make her own home - their home.
But it isn't easy for me.
My brothers and sisters are a fair bit older than me and I think their memories of that house are different than mine - they grew up in a different place - a different city. And although they spent a lot of time there - it wasn't where they were formed.
Our family went through some very hard times during the 80's. My Dad lost the job that he'd held for more than 25 years because he was "too old" and no longer fit the company profile. (That was very common at that time. More youngsters were getting their MBAs and forcing out the old guys who had helped these companies grow and succeed.)
My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was 15. I was very naive and I don't think I fully understood the gravity of what was happening - especially since I was told that Mom was "sick and had to have an operation" not that she had colon cancer. This I found out when I overheard the doctor telling she and my father that they thought they had "gotten all of the tumour". Tumour? I remember feeling like the clouds were starting to open up. I was standing in the hallway outside of my mother's room with my best friend, her sister and her mother, who had come to visit. My oldest brother was also there and when I heard the doctor I perked up and said " tumour? She has cancer?" and my brother looked at me as though I was simple and said "What did you think it was?"
I guess they were trying to protect me. I am the youngest of seven kids. Maybe they thought I didn't need to know. Maybe they didn't think at all. Maybe they forgot to tell me.
Anyway - the following five years were good and bad. My Dad struggled with employment - it was hard for him to find a job at his age - he was 56 - but he did his best. My mother's health came and went - as did the cancer and the operations. She was healthy for some of it and was able to work up until about 6 months before she died. I am grateful for that time. She worked at the university I was attending so we got to spend more time together - the hospital where she went for chemo was down the street from the university so I would go to my early morning class then go wait it out with her at the cancer clinic.
I did not do well at school that year - everything was a struggle. It was just the way life was at the time. I did normal things too - drink and party and date - but there was a tarnish to everything that year. I tried to keep Mom's illness quiet because I didn't want people to feel sorry for me but it eventually got out.
She died in June of 1991. It's hard to believe it's almost 20 years ago.
When I look at the pictures of the empty house - I see her. I see the drapes in the bedroom that she chose. I see the chandelier that my sister and I bought for her on sale - it was always a little wonky and didn't hang straight but she swore she loved it. I remember my parents letting me choose the carpets for the bedroom that would be mine ( pink shag carpet. Never let a 4 year old choose her own carpet). I see the family room fireplace where we had our hideous family portrait taken in the early 80's.
I think those were the best years, maybe. Mom had gone back to university and started a career for the first time in her life. She had some independence and income. She was finished with just being a mommy to seven kids and was on her way to being her own person again. I've always felt that she was cheated by life. She was 59 when she died and in some ways, in her 50's, she was finally getting some ease back. She never had a chance to come into her own. Maybe she would disagree with me but it doesn't really matter.
It's all bittersweet.
I'm amazed by and proud of my father for the leap that he is taking in picking up after 35 years in one house and moving to another part of the province with the woman that he loves. At his age, most people are moving into retirement homes. I hope he's happy there. I hope the house sells quickly (which could be a challenge considering it still has a lot of that shag carpet previously mentioned) so that he can move on and leave his ghosts behind. But it still makes me sad to think that our phone number isn't our phone number anymore and that our address is no longer our address.
I guess it's just one more crappy part of being an adult.
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