THE EMPTY HOUSE

THE EMPTY HOUSE


I open the kitchen door as I have done for many years. I’m no longer greeted by Cody’s bark or the smell of Mom’s freshly baked bread. The house is empty now, a result of disease, aging, and time. Who could have imagined that we would come to this point in our lives? The number 934-2208 is forever etched in my mind. I no longer call it; I know that no one will answer.
I came here in 1956, at the young age of 8. This move from the farm was a huge event for my parents, both financially and emotionally. Mom was happy to leave the drafty old house in the country. She had battled with the coal furnace for too many years. She and dad papered, painted, bought new furniture, and laid carpeting. This was a new beginning for them; a safe place to bring up two children and to be near their aging parents.
This has been home: always to be welcomed and greeted with a hug. Now the walls no longer speak of family celebrations, constant activity and good times. The grass has grown tall, the flag no longer flies, there are no fresh bakery products, and the bird feeders are empty of seed and feathered friends. The porch furniture remains in the cellar; it really hasn’t been used since Mom died eleven years ago. Dad had no interest or motivation in using the porch; it was just too much work to haul the chairs and table up from the cellar: to be used by whom? Mom entertained friends here all summer long. She had her morning coffee here. When you came to visit, you were ushered out to the porch where the conversation was flowing and the coffee and donuts were served. She was hospitality-plus.
Dad and mom were “connected at the hip”. When Mom died, the spark went out of Dad’s life; his purpose for living was gone. He has never recovered from the loss. What a shame that that phase of our lives is gone. Who serves the coffee and donuts now? Who greets us with loving “so glad you’re here” hugs?
The furnishings remain the same. A few years ago Dad had a water leak upstairs, and the kitchen and dining room below were repaired with up-to-date paint and wallpaper. Otherwise it’s the same house. After mom’s death, Dad had no desire to change anything. Somehow, if he kept things as they were, maybe the reality of Mom’s passing wasn’t so real after all.
Going home is very difficult now. I wonder sometimes if I even belong there anymore. I live on the West coast, and Maine seems a million miles away. I lived there a century ago or was it just forty years ago that I left with my military bound husband? Mom and Dad were so vibrant then.This summer I will venture back for another visit. The dynamics have all changed, now that Dad is in a nursing home. But God is in charge and I have faith that “He will work it all out for good” as Paul writes in Ro.8:28. I leave with mixed emotions but with a happy heart, knowing that this old house once rang with love and laughter and I had two exceptional parents who once lived here.