A Bittersweet Homecoming

It's never easy to say goodbye. Whether it's a person or something that holds sentimental value, no one likes letting go. So when my parents told me a couple years ago they were thinking about selling the house I grew up in, it felt a bit like a punch in the gut at first. When it was built back in 1973, it was the perfect place to raise a young and still growing family. I wouldn't come along for another 6 years, and for the first 18 years of my life, and a brief stint after college, it was the only home I knew.

I think the realization that they needed to downsize into something more manageable came around the time my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It was a blow to all of us, but at the same time, I think it brought our family together. My siblings and I knew it was time for us to give our parents a helping hand, just as they had so many times for us growing up. What had been a hard pill to swallow at first blush, turned quickly into a call for action. And so we set about trying to get the old place standing tall, quite methodically I might add, readying it for sale and contemplating just what the next step would be.

It wasn't until this spring that we'd be ready to think about putting it up for sale. After much handwringing, when my parent's finally met with a realtor, they marveled at what they saw as a gem in a very sluggish market. After nearly 4 decades in this place, they ended up listing it with the same agency that had originally sold them the house, and in some ways it brought some comfort that we were coming full circle.

When they made the listing official and I looked at the description and the photos, and ultimately the asking price, it was more than a bit surreal. It all looked good, and I felt anyone who were to see it would certainly want to give the place a look. At the same time it felt odd to quantify the value and parameters of this place that held so many memories for me, and for all of us. It was more than a 4 bedroom colonial. It was the place where I learned to dribble a basketball, played hide and seek with the neighborhood kids and where I returned each night to crowd around our kitchen table with my parents and 6 other siblings for dinner. It was home. Our home. And to think of putting a price on that and allowing some stranger to bid on something that was a part of our history, why it was unthinkable. But then the rational adult mind takes over and with a smile, I said to myself, "someone is really going to love this place just as much as we did".

Just a week or so later that person came along and I believe she saw in it just what we had come to know over the last 30 plus years. Less than two weeks after it went on the market, it was sold, and much to our relief at a fair price.

My parents had been thinking about what would be next for them, as we all had for quite some time. In the end, they decided to build a much smaller and more modest home, just around the corner from their current residence in a rather new development, that for my entire childhood had been just a barren field. Just as when they moved into 105 Pamela Lane, they will be only the second house on a new street, aptly named Brentwood Lane, the same name their current street once had before it was renamed.



On a drizzly, grey morning last week, I met my parents, along with two of my sisters and some of their kids at the site of the new abode. With the old house sold it was time to break ground on the new one. They make quite a big deal of these things, making a party out of the event, which includes the usual breakfast fare of bagels, donuts, coffee, and of course, what celebration would be complete without a bit of champagne?

The backhoe made quick work of the basement as we walked about muddy layout that was only an outline in bright orange spray paint on the dirt. We surveyed the area, and I reflected on how much has changed since we had ridden on bikes through there some 20 years before.

As the crew broke for a minute, the foreman of the team beckoned to my parents and suggested a photo op with the heavy equipment to commemorate the moment. As my mom gingerly climbed onto the the large steel treads and into the cab of the backhoe, my dad struck a pose just beside her. As always, I was ready with my camera to snap a few shots.


As hard as it had been to think of saying goodbye to the place I'd called home for so many years, any sadness was immediately wiped away by the smiles on my dear parent's faces. I know for them, this was a relief. They didn't relish the thought of relinquishing those precious ties to the past any more than I did. But I suppose as we all grow older, and things become less and less certain, it's a good feeling to make a decision and see the progress that it produces. In this world, there is nothing that will last forever, whether it's made of flesh and blood, or rafters and beams. We must savor each precious moment in the present, and try never to look back with regret. As for my parents, I'm happy to have helped to make this process just a bit easier and I look forward to future family gatherings in their new home. To be honest, it's a bit of a relief for me too, just to know that as they grow older, they have one less worry, and a great many blessings to be thankful for.