Monday, November 1, 2010


It was my home. My father bought it in 1946, after he came home from the war. His parents, brothers, and sisters lived there until about 1953. My Grandparents stayed, living in an apartment upstairs; my Grandfather died there in the late 50s and was ‘laid out’ in the parlor. My brother and I grew up there, and walked to Delaware School, the Junior High, and the “new“ High School. Jim and I moved out and got married in the 70s, and my Grandmother remained living there until 1977. She’s been gone over 30 years, but my father never rented the upstairs. The space was used mostly for storage, but he kept her bedroom fairly intact with all the original furniture; my brother would stay there when he came home for his annual visits. Mom passed away 7 years ago, and my father kept all her clothes and other things where she left them. He died this past Summer. So many memories. I gave some things away to my family, and had an estate sale to clear out as much of the usable things as possible. An old high school friend removed and disposed of the remaining possessions for me; it’s much easier when you don‘t have an attachment to… everything. I hadn’t been inside the house for a couple weeks and stopped by tonight. It’s empty. Upstairs, downstairs, basement. Nothing. No furniture, no appliances or tools, no beds… clothes in the closets or pictures on the walls. It’s all a memory now. After 64 years, it’s just a house.

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