I'm not sure where that quote came from, but it was one our company was using on letterhead before we took over ownership. I'm left thinking of this quote today as we said our final goodbye's to the first home my parents ever bought. This was their long-awaited dream. Home-ownership. No more paying other people's mortgages, no more living in small and cramped apartments. A home of their very own which they took pride in. This dream was finally realized just over a few years ago. Not very long to settle in and enjoy to the fullest. It was torn away rather abruptly the same time my father was. This shared dream suddenly became a painful memory while at the same time being a reminder of all the wonderful memories that were had there and the ones that would never be.
A few weeks back, a friend spoke incredible words of healing to my soul. I truly believe the Holy Spirit was at work in that moment and spoke through her. There was a thirst that was quenched and the despair that had begun taking over my heart was suddenly lifted and hope occupied its space. I haven't cried much since that conversation. The incredible hope inside me made the sorrow seem so small...so temporary. There was anticipation for what awaits me that kept the tears from falling. But today they fell. As I helped my mom clean her house and load up her car with the last of her belongings (including my dad's ashes), memories kept flooding my mind of time spent in their house. Each room brought its own set of memories. The room where the kids had their toys and would sleep in when spending the night. The bathroom I'd force the kids to use before our long drive back home. The back yard where I could see the handiwork of my dad and mom both in trying to take a once neglected yard and make it special. The family room where the kids would be sent to watch movies while the grown-ups talked in the living room. The living room where most of our visiting took place while sitting on the couches. Where we shared Christmas. Where my parents first met Mei. Where Angel slow-motioned fought with my kids. Where my mom and I sat in shock and disbelief at the reality that was unfolding after the evening of October 8th.
So many memories. Such a short amount of time.
When all the work was just about done, my mom took my dad's ashes on one final walk through. As she did, I continued to sweep but then also began to sob. The last room she took him to was their bedroom. The place he spent his last moments on this earth. I could hear her break down and cry. I went to be with her and we stood there hugging and crying. There is something hallow about occupying the same space where someone passed from this world onto the next. Something precious. But also something incredibly painful. A finality. A trying to grasp onto the past moment to hold it dear, but it being a completely futile attempt. He's gone and there is no going back. All that is left is the memories and a hope that the story is not yet over.
With the car packed, Mom and I headed south towards her new life. Pretty soon we'll be able to move her into her new home where new memories can be made. But we will always be grateful for the few years we were able to make memories with my parents in their home.
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