my grandfather is losing his home, my first real childhood home, to foreclosure this week. the last place from my childhood that I could return to. of course, any time i've returned to it in the past 15 years has been filled with a deep kind of sadness that makes me want to never return.
i think of the garden my mother built by hand as my sibling and i played on the homemade merry-go-round. i liked to help her pull the rhubarb and pick the peas. the best part though were the tomatoes just as summer was hitting its peak. i think of riding along with my parents on the lawnmower covering the expansive lawn they worked so hard to keep nice for me and my sibling.
i think of the forest on the right side, where a tree has branches perfectly bent to form a comfortable spot to sit and listen to the birds. or the forest to the left, up and beyond a large hill. the spot my parents would play "hack-minton". the divot in the ground near the treeline that as a toddler i would sit in and call my "butthole" and proudly tell my relatives about my "new butthole". the rows of trees beyond the main line that we counted to keep track of which cat we were burying.
i think of the 'pond', which to me was more like a small lake, surrounded with forest property. the pond felt like a final resting place, with the lines of my grandfather's old abandoned cars parked along the narrow strip between the pond and the forest, never to be driven again. my grandfather didnt even make it off of his back deck overlooking the yard when he spent time outside so i knew they were left to rot. Amongst his cars were other cars too- my dad's old project vehicles or a car with hopeful plans to restore one day. I remember seeing the pollen and dust layering season by season and wondering when they'd come back to life.
I remember seeing my parents' wedding photos against the stone and flower landscaping on one side and trying to recreate poses of my other grandfather, my mom's father who passed when I was two, as a way to keep him in my memory. I still think of him immediately when I see that large granite natural obelisk. Or the wedding photos near the mouth of the forest on the right and trying to imagine a time when my grandmother could still stand.
In the years after my immediate family moved out and with the impact of hoarding and neglect, the house has fallen into disrepair and the property itself is beyond reasonable work, to a point that caused me to feel sick to my stomach just witnessing. chest freezers and fridges bought and kept in the living room to replace the fridge that was just full of rotting food. former childhood bedroom, stacked to the literal ceiling with hundreds of model car kits that have also become victim to water damage and mold, left to sit. worse things i don't care to type out. how could a place i once loved and held so safe to me become this? or was it always like this-my parents being a bandaid on the situation- and i was just too young to realize at the time?
i guess it was naive to assume that the property would stay in the family forever yet i find myself struggling to come to terms with the fact that i will never get to return to a place that doesn't exist anymore in the first place.
