Near-empty house full of memories
There are nights I still wander the house, peer into the once active, sometimes angry, bedrooms and wonder, wish, hope … only to realize the life of empty-nesters is simply a matter of then and now.
Looking closely, I see the bag of screams that stood at the ready for times when curfew was another rule tossed into the broken stack. And in the corner, right by the baseball glove, sits a bucketful of hopes and dreams that came and went in ways never imagined.
The white creases in the then-expensive-now-worn hunter green blinds are from the nights we looked out the window searching the darkness, worry etched across our faces. Behind the bed, along with the dust and crumpled papers, are gentle kisses that smoothed away nightmares of long ago. The closet door bears a scar of days I’d rather not remember.
If these walls could project digital images in 1080p, they would display a family scrapbook of bold, bright pictures. Slides of sunshine and snow, swimming pools and sleds would blaze across its surface. Vivid impressions of wedding guests, prom attire, double chins, disappointments, jollity, job loss, bickering, forgiveness, school and police academy graduations, pets who not only taught us unconditional love but the true meaning of nocturnal, and those days when the world seemed a bit off the bubble, would be sharp, poignant, endearing and all too accurate.
And if these floors could talk, they would tell of the umpteen feet that have tread across its carpet, then-concrete, now-linoleum-tile in boots and sandals, Nike’s and baseball cleats, prom slippers and dress shoes, paws both big and small, bare feet and sock-covered toes.
The sounds of those years would resonate with a gentle tap here, a mighty thud there. Some would be the sounds of running, coupled with giggles because a dastardly pillow fight was under way and others would denote a sneaky late night tiptoe. Disruptive and angry stomps would echo with the dawn of teen angst.
Back then, my dreams of the future were grandiose. Our children lived nearby and in my imaginings this house, too big for two now, was the central place of gatherings and grandchildren where baby clothes, high chairs, and a toy box stuffed with puzzles, Barbies, books, crayons, Transformers and cars, were the norm. Ingredients from a recipe being told to a grandchild could be heard and when we pulled the freshly baked concoction from the oven, the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg was enticing.
Sleepovers and visits from our children and grandchildren were frequent as they sought refuge or our sage advice or, perhaps, a shoulder to lean on. I could hear the gentle murmurs of our grandchildren while they spoke of their successes and troubles, felt the smooth hair beneath my hand when I assured them everything would work out or how proud they made me and how very much I loved them.
And the right words would always accompany the perfect gestures because, as grandparents, we so learned from the mistakes we made as parents.
We attended every sporting event and school recital. Birthdays and holidays were filled with the good and bad that depict family gatherings. As our hair grayed and skin wrinkled, a replay of graduations and weddings and births snapped through my mind as we watched a new generation grab the reigns of adulthood.
But my then dreams were not meant for the now of today.
Now, on these nights of wandering, I stand in the doorways of the rarely used rooms, void of the chatter and heartache, tears, laughter, negotiations, the pounding of feet and, at times, fists, and I smile at my then dreams that played out in varied and unexpected ways but a rich tapestry nonetheless, and I realize our life as empty nesters is an acquiescence of what could have been and what is; a give and take coupled with an understanding of then … but, even more importantly, the acceptance of now.