During my mother’s long illness, I thought we had time. Time with her, time in the house. The disease ran its cruel course and, though we knew it was inevitable, her death last November still caught me off-guard. (But that’s always the way, in my experience.) Even though a long period of “anticipatory grief” may have softened the final blow, there’s nothing like the finality of the real thing.
I assumed that after her passing, my brothers and I would have a year or so in the Los Altos house to get her – and our – affairs in order. To clear out 50 years’ worth of life there – the clothes, the books, the receipts, the heirlooms. I also thought I could take time to organize and downsize my own belongings and all the things that go with a home business. And to travel a bit – after such a long period of not venturing much farther than Mountain View – and scope out my next abode.
This was not to be. My mother’s lawyer – now ours – advised us to sell the house within six months for tax purposes. Subsequent meetings with realtors suggested the best time to sell was in the spring – the market was hot, with low inventory, and summer was too late for most families.
So, the year I had envisioned became six months, which then, allowing time for some sprucing up after we had moved out, became three months.
We frantically began sorting through cupboards, file cabinets, closets. I put off my mother’s room for a month or so, and had my mother’s former caregiver help me go through her clothes and other personal belongings. I kept way more than I probably should have – my closets are now bursting with her sweaters and coats, many of which I had given to her over the years, and others that remind me of her in happier times. Even so, the bags and boxes for Goodwill were a painful reminder for us all, and difficult for my brother Chris to haul off.
We hired DGW Auctioneers in Sunnyvale to come for the furniture, antiques, china, paintings, etc., that my brothers and I didn’t want or wouldn’t have room for (again, there were many things I couldn’t part with). That left a semi-skeletal house, with just the items that would move with us, and some other pieces of furniture that we put out in front marked “Free.” They were generally snatched up within the hour.
I found a nice apartment in Pacifica about six weeks ahead of the target move date, and moved in a daybed and a few kitchen items so I could stay there for a brief respite now and then. No TV or internet – just much-needed downtime. Then back to the sorting and purging, along with my regular work. Looking back, it seems miraculous to me that my work life survived.
An animal-lover, I gradually tapered off the bird feeding. I knew they’d survive – this is California, not North Dakota – but knew they had become accustomed to “Mary’s Cafe,” as my mother and I used to call our patio, and didn’t want them to suffer.
Final farewell
Finally the big day arrived, and the movers whisked away my furniture, clothes and countless boxes. I did a quick walk-through to see if anything I wanted was left behind, and off we went.
My brother and I went back several days later, to check the mail and empty out the last couple of kitchen cupboards. So strange to see the place empty – purged of personality and life. To keep tears at bay, we worked quickly, loading up garbage bags.
Before we left, though, I took another walk-through to say a proper good-bye to the house that had been our home for 50 years. Even when I lived in Canada for 10 years, the house – and most importantly, my mother – was here, always welcoming me home.
Good-bye to the back yard, with the gas fire pit we’d gather around on summer evenings when my father was alive. Good-bye to the patio, where I was drinking iced tea and reading my mail when the Loma Prieta Earthquake struck. Good-bye to the driveway, where my parents and I would play badminton after dinner. Good-bye to the family room, where we’d watch TV, read, and where my aunt slept on the sofa bed when she came to visit, and where my father would ask me to bring him another half a cup of coffee so he wouldn’t disturb the cat sleeping on his lap. Good-bye to the galley-style kitchen, where my mother made family favorites like chicken fricassee and American chop suey. Good-bye to the dining room, where my father often recited “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” to the eye-rolling, yet delight, of his children. Good-bye to the living room, where my parents would have a pre-dinner cocktail while I watched “Star Trek” in the next room. Good-bye to the fireplace, where the stockings Aunt Nancy made us hung at Christmastime. Good-bye to my office, to the bedrooms. Good-bye to all the people and animals no longer with us.
Good-bye, house. And thank you.