If you’ve read many of my columns, you might know that it’s hard for me to let go of some things from the past.  

I tend to be a tad sentimental, and I relate to people who don’t get rid of things that “belonged to grandpa” and so on. The memories of our childhood often cause us to cling to tangible objects.

Shortly before my grandmother passed away, a young couple bought the farm and moved into the house where my grandparents had raised their family for a good 45 years.  It was a place we had grown up visiting, and I’m sure most of my cousins would equate the farm with feelings of solace and peace.

As is customary with my family, we tend to do things quickly and “get it over with.” Teeth-pulling, sharing shocking news, and so on. Farm families tend to have a “well, that’s life” mentality.  There’s too much to do to wallow in sadness or grief, and so taking care of business quickly is easier than facing unpleasant things.

So, we cleaned out Grandma’s house pretty fast, allowing this new couple to move in immediately.  They were grateful to have the home, and being able to hand over such a treasured place to such a couple was a blessing to our family.  

We left the place in their hands and never looked back.

Still, driving by or even getting out of the car to stand in front of the house was painful when we brought ourselves to do it, and so most of us didn’t do it very often. Even though it no longer felt like grandma’s house, traveling the roads to get there and seeing familiar trees or bends in the road felt like we were going to some place that would be the same.  

A place that would be the same, always.

Over 20 years have passed since the house got new owners, and eventually the young couple raised their own family in the house. After two decades living there, they decided  to build a new home a few yards behind the place they were now calling “the old house.” 

Their new home, spacious and modern, is a few feet away from where the old pond used to be. The landscape around the farm has changed so much that much of it is unrecognizable.

As expected, the news came one day that grandma’s house would be torn down. Once a log cabin that had been added on to and modernized, the old house was too costly to repair and maintain.   

Sentimentality or not, it just made sense.

I am thankful to have kept in touch, somewhat, with the “new” owners of the house, who contacted me and asked if anyone in the family wanted anything out of the house. We had already moved furnishings and personal belongings that meant something to us, leaving behind a few pieces of furniture the grateful young couple were glad to have when we left the house. But I still entertained the thought of having another piece of my grandparents’ house.

A dear friend of mine made the trip home with me and our task that day was to retrieve a couple of old wooden doors and windows that had been resurrected from the “back porch” of the old house. The items had been removed and placed in a nearby shed – a shed that had not been there when I knew the place.  As I said, much of the old farm was unrecognizable to me.

“Feel free to walk through the house if you want. It’s unlocked.” The current owners offered this to me when we arranged for pickup of the doors and windows.

I don’t know if it was because my friend was with me or if it was something I thought I just needed to do, but after loading the old house pieces, I trekked back to the garage door and found myself walking through the familiar spaces where many of grandma’s touches still remained. 

Familiar, yet so different. So long ago, yet so  like yesterday. It seemed like I’d just been there, yet it had been 22 years.

In a way, it was like walking through a cemetery. Sort of a reverent walk, sort of a “let’s get this over with” mentality, sort of sad, sort of comforting.  To say it was a plethora of emotions would be an understatement.  

But in the end, I was glad I did it.

The visit haunted me for many days, and I think that’s because I wasn’t sure how I actually felt. I felt so many different feelings.  However, I don’t think I ever felt terribly sad or that I needed a good cry.  

We still have umpteen pictures. There are a couple of awesome aerial shots of the old place. And shoot, an endless supply of memories.

It all might sound a little overly dramatic to some folks. 

It was a good thing to do. A nice way to get closure. A grateful acquisition of a few precious artifacts.  

A fitting goodbye.