What's Left

The house is slowly emptying: first Grandad died, then so did Nana’s heart, she’s not long moved but the rooms are dusty for the first time since 1936 and the flocks of sparrows in the garden are no more.  It’s just the objects left.  Stuff soaked in memories; some mine, some theirs.  The furniture I transformed into spaceships as a child, battered board games from Sunday afternoons, crystal cruet sets for our salad teas, flickers of images of staying over.  On my own.  In ‘my’ room.  And her hats and pieces of jewellery and his paintings and silver cigarette cases and lighters (he smoked?!) and pristine implements and utensils from the 80s, 70s, 60s, 50s, 40s, 30s, wedding gifts, all still shiny and in perfect working order, the mangle, the Singer, the boxed electric iron sitting next to the entirely solid one, a steel, two coronation’s worth of memorabilia.  And the private things, the photographs, her scrapbooks of greeting cards and the cards she’s kept that proclaim a lifetime’s devotion: always starting “My Darling Wife” and closing “Your Everloving Hubby, Reg xxx.”  And we sift through what’s left, looking for the important things, the things that matter and we’re profoundly disappointed by the inadequacy of them to represent that Home.  Just ghosts.  Just echoes of our lives there.

Comments

[Ian]

Blimey, this quite upset me!

[Mrs RW]

I know people say that we don't need "things" to keep a memory alive, but I often think that without something tangible from a departed loved one, it's hard to remember that they were here, a daily part of our lives. It's almost as though I say "Were they really here or did I just imagine them?" Why can't all our memories be an endless series of DVD's that we could replay and experience again? Not the bad memories, of course, just the wonderful bits - a glance, a kiss or hug, a special scent, the feelings...

[Paul]

There are many wonderful memories at 366 myself also, today too far removed and too "grown up" (ie not a child) to visit with any sort of regularity. Memories from childhood are indeed etched into my heart and soul from years gone by...I miss those days. P