This was the last visit to The Ranch as it has been for all of my life.
I say "visit"; it was much more of a series of tasks that needed to be completed.
The Ravishing Mrs. TB is down visiting her family again, so she picked me up from the airport. We made a quick stop at my sister's to pick up the truck, then headed up to see my Aunt and Uncle before the movers got there.
There was a little time, so I took one last stroll through the house. It is basically a shell of memories now, a series of rooms that are empty of belongings and furniture and hold nothing now but memories, memories that will soon be pushed out by new memories of others.
How often over the past years, especially the last six, did I sit in the office and idly gaze out the window throughout the seasons as I worked remotely? How often did we visit as a family before we moved to New Home, and how often did we still visit afterwards when the visits were less frequent but equally heartfelt? How often did I see, in the evening, my mother reading on the couch with the lamp on and TB The Elder next to the fireplace, sleeping?
All gone now, except in the twilight recesses of our minds.
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My sister called me earlier in the week - the last contingencies have fallen off, and the buyers wondered if we would be willing to accelerate the sale. We said of course - with the move of things especially and the departure of Uisdean Ruadh, there is nothing left holding it up. This coming Thursday will now be the final closure date.
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The moving crew showed up by 1130; the truck loading took less than an hour with the more fragile items distributed among the cars The Ravishing Mrs. TB, my sister and I had brought. They were quick about there business and headed off down the road; we more slowly closed the barn door and locked the barn for the last time.
And like that, it was time to go and get things placed into the storage unit and effectively leave all of this - not once and for all (not yet), but leave as anything other than visitors in the future.
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In 2021, I drove my father out from the house to his new living arrangements. There was a moment - after we had to go back to get his room key and then come back down the road again - where he had a look on his face, a look that said he was aware of the fact that this was the last time he would be seeing The Ranch, a place that he had been coming to for over 60 years and a place he had lived for the last 20.
I had anticipated this moments for months, but nothing still prepared me for that last drive of a mile where effectively everything receded into the background for the last time. Like my father, I realize that even if I did come back, it would only ever be as a visitor. The property that had been his heart and my anticipation for years has passed beyond our reach.
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After everything was settled and the movers had left, the three of us - The Ravishing Mrs. TB, my sister, and myself - went out to an early dinner before I had to fly back.
On the one hand, there remained a great deal of sadness in my heart - no matter how I consider it, this is the ending to a very long chapter in my life in a way that was not anticipated and in some ways, seems terribly abrupt. There was a time that I thought I knew my future; now I know almost nothing about it.
But then I remind myself of the other side, of years of going back and forth, of calls of things breaking and me having to find a fix remotely, of worries about what was happening when I was not there and what I would come back to upon my monthly visit. All of that passes away as well; being able to concentrate more fully on New Home 2.0 and what our own next steps are, now that we are effectively child-free and entering a new era of life is not something to dismissed.
I had one future that I thought I knew; now I have another one that I had not anticipated.
Reading this post brought me back to the sale of my parents home, from the day of Dad's stroke to the day of closing was four months. The home they lived in for over fifty years and where I grew up now exists only in photos and increasing dim memories. Come Thursday a door will close for you TB and it will stay locked. Remember the good times sir.
ReplyDeleteNylon12 - That thought is in my own mind as well: My children will remember, but any grandchildren that are born will never see it. Mostly with my generation but certainly with my children's, the memories completely die.
DeleteYou are in my thoughts and prayers as I know what you are going through. It has been two years since I've been back to the farm where I spent the latter part of my childhood because it is now owned by someone else. In my case, I spent a lot of money and effort building my dream garden and fruit orchard only to have someone else now use it. Fortunately like you said, I still have the memories. I am also making new memories, including a garden and an orchard elsewhere.
ReplyDeleteThank you Ed.
DeleteI had forgotten it has already been two years for you. Same feelings of course; my father invested his life in The Ranch and now it passes to someone else (who, judging from The Cowboy's impression, will take good care of it). We do still have the memories and now, maybe for the first time in almost 17 years, I can feel like I can fully "belong" to a place.
Life is a series of bittersweet events, it seems -- comings and goings, beginnings and endings. While some might see it as a cliche, I cling to believing we don't know what tomorrow holds, but we know who holds tomorrow. Godspeed to all of you, TB.
ReplyDeleteThanks Bob. There is a stream of thought that goes instead of imaging how things can go wrong, imagine how they can go right. I am not sure I am quite there yet, but certainly there is Someone who has been carefully overseeing the last two years.
DeleteI still miss the home I grew up in from third grade to high school. It's belonged to someone else for 35 years now.
ReplyDeleteJohn, occasionally I still drive by the house I grew up in from when I was born to well after college. My parents sold it over 25 year ago; I still can picture exactly what it looks like inside.
DeleteI hope it's a relief for you. For me, the hardest part would be letting go of the land. The house, not so much. A house can be removed or built, but land offers a kind of security that nothing else can.
ReplyDeleteLeigh, the land is by far the harder part - but then I have to be honest with myself: In the last two years (let alone six years), how many times have I walked it? How many times have I done something on it? The answer is almost "Zero". I also have to be honest that for the last 17 years, the chances of getting back there in the event of an "emergency" are almost zero. So it was the deposit in a bank that I could never access when I needed it.
DeleteHonestly, not having to be a landlord anymore is the biggest relief.