I recently found a box of family photographs, some of which belonged to my maternal grandmother. In showing them to my mom for identification of people I didn’t know she would pause at each picture that displayed the house she grew up in. “I loved that fireplace,” she must’ve said at least a dozen times. “Oh, look at that ceiling. Did you find one with a shot of the cherubs?” She talked about the French doors, the family gatherings, the love she had for that place. And what once made me angry instantly made me sad.
There’s a reason that shelter is an essential part of our survival. To have a place that protects us from extreme elements, gives us a place to rest and privacy. But, in my opinion, it also gives us comfort and community. Pride in your achievements and motivation for reaching a goal. To know that a place that once was loved, valued and honored was destroyed so easily literally tears at my spirit. I hear the cries of pain, the wails of the spirits that once lived and loved there. The sadness of my family members who loved it so. Who gave so much attention to a building that cared for them.
I understand and accept that progress is inevitable. I don’t dispute that or wish us to cease growing, learning and improving. But…at what cost? And I don’t mean that in a financial aspect. What price are we paying at the expense of financial gain? It’s cyclical really. Our community grows so we have more individuals looking for employment. More people in needs of services that businesses provide. So it’s a given that businesses need to expand to be able to keep up with demand. Yet, where does it end?
I am so thankful that I found those pictures so that one day when I sell my book and save up money I can buy my mom a house and reconstruct the fireplace and cherubed ceilings for her. Not to regress but to give her back something that was stolen from her. Something that she loved that was violated, and destroyed while she was powerless to stop it from happening.
A house is more than the wood, steel, furniture and wires that provide protection. It’s a place full of energy. Both positive and negative. It’s an unspoken member of the family. An overseeing guardian. Someone or something to watch over you. To feel along with you.
When our parents sold our childhood home we all cried. It was time. The outer laying community was expanding and congesting. Living on the corner was no longer conducive to our lifestyle. If we could’ve picked up the house and moved it somewhere quieter we would have. But that wasn’t the case. There was some comfort in knowing that a house that took such great care of us as a family was now going to be able to do the same for a new family. There would be children again running up and down the stairs, playing in the backyard, climbing the trees and sleeping on the floor. There’d be laughter, love and holiday celebrations. The house deserved nothing less. So when I drive passed I still blow it a kiss, place my hand over my heart and say a prayer of thanks for a great childhood.
I only wish my mom could do the same when she travels back to her hometown. Somehow I don’t think the home improvement building cares much.
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| My grandmother and her sisters-in-law (1964) |
