I'm writing this journal as I sit in front of 1926 and it's a beautiful, crisp, fall day. The sun is shining, the sky is clear. Every color in Hailey’s Crayola box is represented in the falling leaves scattered around my feet. And yet, despite the splendor all around me, it feels like rain pouring down inside my heart. Today is the day I close on the sale of my grandparent’s house.
While it is certainly a relief to take this off my plate, I must admit I feel ambivalent at best about it. Ambivalent...it is the word that describes my feelings towards most any piece of this puzzle. I can’t help but question so much. Why? How did this happen? What’s next?
Rewind: About 4 or 5 years ago, James and Etta were both hospitalized. It was at this time that I first pursued the need to find my grandparents incapacitated and insisted on evaluations. They were clearly unable to care for themselves or for one another, or so I thought. Sadly, my pursuit was not fruitful and my grandparents returned to their home and the “care” of my uncle. The system failed. For many months, I continued to call my grandmother. If I could just hear her voice then perhaps somehow things were miraculously better. As time went on though, I grew weary. It became more and more difficult to reach her by phone. I sent letters and cards. On occasion, I would receive one in response. It was a slow fade. Ultimately, the only reassurance I had of their wellbeing was calling the city police to request welfare checks to the residence. I now know that while they were being served by Adult Protective Services, any effort to help them was met with rejection. The horrors behind the walls of 1926 were well concealed. Thus the situation continued to deteriorate…life as James and Etta once knew dwindled away a little each day. If there is a silver lining in this dark cloud, it’s the blessing of Alzheimer’s. At some point, James and Etta both began to experience memory loss and with that the inability to recognize the situation for what it was.
Fast forward to July24, 2010 when the reality of the situation was painfully identified. You already know how the next few months have played out. And now, today, November 10, 2010, the house will be officially sold. Though assessed just last year at $171,000 it was only worth $35,000 because of the deplorable conditions.
I can’t help but look at this house and think back to the July afternoon when James and Etta were removed from this place. The images are etched in my mind. I remember thinking that rats in an alley have a better life and a better chance at survival than this! And at the same time, I can’t help but think about the good times from my childhood. The pool. Holiday dinners. Etta’s aprons. Banana pudding. Playing with her make-up and jewelry. Getting my Brownie patches sewn on. Even as a teenager, I can remember going to visit Etta before Friday night football games. I remember times I called this house to confide in Etta…to share a story, a heartache, something funny.
I’ve been sitting here for over an hour now…for my one last visit to the house as I know it. I wanted to leave a mark of some sort…some way to memorialize all that has happened here. The good and the bad. And yet, I can’t seem to muster the courage to go in. As if by not going in just one more time, I can change the course of the situation or turn back time…..
Wednesday night:
Well, I bailed on the idea of going inside the house before closing. Seems silly that a house could have such a strong hold of me. I decided that I would grab a bite, clear my head, and head over to closing. I thought making the decision not to go inside was the hard part of this situation. Turns out, ACTUALLLY LEAVING would be the challenge as MY CAR WOULD NOT START! I can’t even make this stuff up! So, when I say, I couldn’t leave this place, I literally meant it!
While I sat in my car contemplating and writing, my battery died. Truth be told, I was listening to my iPod through my car speakers which caused this. Yes, I know better, but I didn’t realize I had been sitting there so long either. Immediately, the tears started to fall. It was as though turning the key to my ignition was the button that said, “Push here for water works!” In a moment of panic, I called the first few men in the area that came to mind who have come through for me in the past. It’s the middle of a work day so I knew getting help would be yet another challenge.
Ultimately, in a fleeting moment of clarity, I realized that surely I had roadside assistance. Within moments, my knight in shining armor arrived. No galloping stallion, but rather a beat up old Crown Victoria that doubled as a pizza delivery vehicle. No metal breastplate, but rather a seemingly endless stream of tattoos. AND instead of a sword, he was armed with jumper cables! Hey, everybody’s hero looks different and today this guy made hero status in my book! Just as my car was running again, my realtor-turned-friend, responded to my message about the car. Though he was running over to help (picture superman to the rescue; cape and all), the problem had been solved. He still came over so I could follow him to closing. I think he knew I was feeling pretty pitiful at this point. Compassionately he offered to go in the house with me. He knew how important this was for me to do. I looked up the steep driveway and saw Mt Everest. Fighting back tears, I declined. I just couldn’t do it. I felt stuck, powerless, defeated.
Instead, we stood outside my car and looked through some old photos of the house that I had with me. So much had changed over the years...to the house, to this family. In particular, we looked a picture of the house after it was built in 1959. My friend pointed out a tree in the front yard of the photograph. It was tall, so very thin, and had hardly any branches. Over the next 50 years, that tree has grown to be beautiful, strong, and healthy. Its roots can be traced under the driveway and stretch right up to the house. Its branches extend far and wide, providing vast amounts of shade. During one of my trips to the house in August, I caught myself sitting under this very tree. I remember getting my camera to photograph it myself. I was so in awe of its magnitude, its resiliency. I wanted to capture the flourishing life in this tree despite all that was happening around it...I need thank my friend for reminding me that when we are grounded with solid roots, when we extend ourselves to shelter others, we don't lose a thing. In fact, we we grow stronger because of it.
While it is certainly a relief to take this off my plate, I must admit I feel ambivalent at best about it. Ambivalent...it is the word that describes my feelings towards most any piece of this puzzle. I can’t help but question so much. Why? How did this happen? What’s next?
Rewind: About 4 or 5 years ago, James and Etta were both hospitalized. It was at this time that I first pursued the need to find my grandparents incapacitated and insisted on evaluations. They were clearly unable to care for themselves or for one another, or so I thought. Sadly, my pursuit was not fruitful and my grandparents returned to their home and the “care” of my uncle. The system failed. For many months, I continued to call my grandmother. If I could just hear her voice then perhaps somehow things were miraculously better. As time went on though, I grew weary. It became more and more difficult to reach her by phone. I sent letters and cards. On occasion, I would receive one in response. It was a slow fade. Ultimately, the only reassurance I had of their wellbeing was calling the city police to request welfare checks to the residence. I now know that while they were being served by Adult Protective Services, any effort to help them was met with rejection. The horrors behind the walls of 1926 were well concealed. Thus the situation continued to deteriorate…life as James and Etta once knew dwindled away a little each day. If there is a silver lining in this dark cloud, it’s the blessing of Alzheimer’s. At some point, James and Etta both began to experience memory loss and with that the inability to recognize the situation for what it was.
Fast forward to July24, 2010 when the reality of the situation was painfully identified. You already know how the next few months have played out. And now, today, November 10, 2010, the house will be officially sold. Though assessed just last year at $171,000 it was only worth $35,000 because of the deplorable conditions.
I can’t help but look at this house and think back to the July afternoon when James and Etta were removed from this place. The images are etched in my mind. I remember thinking that rats in an alley have a better life and a better chance at survival than this! And at the same time, I can’t help but think about the good times from my childhood. The pool. Holiday dinners. Etta’s aprons. Banana pudding. Playing with her make-up and jewelry. Getting my Brownie patches sewn on. Even as a teenager, I can remember going to visit Etta before Friday night football games. I remember times I called this house to confide in Etta…to share a story, a heartache, something funny.
I’ve been sitting here for over an hour now…for my one last visit to the house as I know it. I wanted to leave a mark of some sort…some way to memorialize all that has happened here. The good and the bad. And yet, I can’t seem to muster the courage to go in. As if by not going in just one more time, I can change the course of the situation or turn back time…..
Wednesday night:
Well, I bailed on the idea of going inside the house before closing. Seems silly that a house could have such a strong hold of me. I decided that I would grab a bite, clear my head, and head over to closing. I thought making the decision not to go inside was the hard part of this situation. Turns out, ACTUALLLY LEAVING would be the challenge as MY CAR WOULD NOT START! I can’t even make this stuff up! So, when I say, I couldn’t leave this place, I literally meant it!
While I sat in my car contemplating and writing, my battery died. Truth be told, I was listening to my iPod through my car speakers which caused this. Yes, I know better, but I didn’t realize I had been sitting there so long either. Immediately, the tears started to fall. It was as though turning the key to my ignition was the button that said, “Push here for water works!” In a moment of panic, I called the first few men in the area that came to mind who have come through for me in the past. It’s the middle of a work day so I knew getting help would be yet another challenge.
Ultimately, in a fleeting moment of clarity, I realized that surely I had roadside assistance. Within moments, my knight in shining armor arrived. No galloping stallion, but rather a beat up old Crown Victoria that doubled as a pizza delivery vehicle. No metal breastplate, but rather a seemingly endless stream of tattoos. AND instead of a sword, he was armed with jumper cables! Hey, everybody’s hero looks different and today this guy made hero status in my book! Just as my car was running again, my realtor-turned-friend, responded to my message about the car. Though he was running over to help (picture superman to the rescue; cape and all), the problem had been solved. He still came over so I could follow him to closing. I think he knew I was feeling pretty pitiful at this point. Compassionately he offered to go in the house with me. He knew how important this was for me to do. I looked up the steep driveway and saw Mt Everest. Fighting back tears, I declined. I just couldn’t do it. I felt stuck, powerless, defeated.
Instead, we stood outside my car and looked through some old photos of the house that I had with me. So much had changed over the years...to the house, to this family. In particular, we looked a picture of the house after it was built in 1959. My friend pointed out a tree in the front yard of the photograph. It was tall, so very thin, and had hardly any branches. Over the next 50 years, that tree has grown to be beautiful, strong, and healthy. Its roots can be traced under the driveway and stretch right up to the house. Its branches extend far and wide, providing vast amounts of shade. During one of my trips to the house in August, I caught myself sitting under this very tree. I remember getting my camera to photograph it myself. I was so in awe of its magnitude, its resiliency. I wanted to capture the flourishing life in this tree despite all that was happening around it...I need thank my friend for reminding me that when we are grounded with solid roots, when we extend ourselves to shelter others, we don't lose a thing. In fact, we we grow stronger because of it.
....and with that, we made our way across town to closing.
Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I just wanted this little transaction over with. I found myself blocking out what the settlement attorney was saying by singing the theme to “Elmo’s World”…in my head only, of course! You gotta do what works and when I realized that I hardly had a chance of making it out of this office without falling apart, this is how I coped. Not sure why that particular tune came to mind, but it made me laugh a bit inside.
As I signed each document, I fought back so many thoughts…
Really? I’m selling my grandparents house and they don’t have any idea?
Really? A house was worth nearly $200K is worth less than car?
Really? They will never go home again…they will spend the remainder of their days in a secured Alzheimer’s unit of a nursing home.
What if----?
Who will----?
And I even thought about my uncle. Though he is responsible for this mess, I have to think of him too. Family is family. Certainly, he didn’t wake up one day and decide to create heartache for so many. Drugs and alcohol decide that for you. I hold on to the hope that he is getting clean and getting help. I believe that one day, he will have to face the fierce sting I have over these last 3 ½ months. He didn’t get to say good-bye to this place like I did today. And the reality is, he may not even have the chance to say goodbye to his parents. I can’t imagine what it must be like for him to survey the damage…to be the one that held the detonator that set off this explosion…
I know I had to sell it and that doing so will be a relief…but I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming heaviness.
I made it through closing, truly a miracle! Got to my car and fell apart before I even left the parking lot. Though my heart felt like a shadow had been cast over it, a spark still lingered. Without hesitation, I headed back to 1926 to finish what I started this morning. I had no right to this place any longer but was graciously granted permission to go back from “my realtor-turned-friend/superhero.”
I had already prepared what I wanted to write on the studs before the new walls were built. Determined not to be defeated by my emotions, I entered the house. I did it for my grandmother. I did it for my grandfather. I did it for my uncle…and my dad…for the countless others who are somehow tied to the situation. I did it for myself.
Don’t minimize the power of therapeutic exercises! They may seem ridiculous but have the potential to have a profound impact. It’s now Thursday morning and though I cried many more tears last night, I am comforted by the image of what I left on those walls….somehow, in some very small way, I left my handprint there… a mark acknowledging all the pain and joy that those walls have seen…a mark that proclaims I was there and I cared…a mark that helps me to forge ahead and resist looking back.
Below is the message I wrote on what remained of of 1926 this past Wednesday. I think my message spoke for us all...
November 10, 2010
For those who have been hurt and held here...
For the hands that will breathe new life into this place...
For the family that will make this house their new home....
Choose love.
Forgive even though you can’t forget.
Be sure to laugh.
Take time to listen.
Look beyond fault and find favor.
Cherish family.
Relish in the simplest of pleasures.
Welcome each new day as an opportunity to determine your legacy.
This house will never be the same and neither will I.
Both are forever changed.
Days gone by are distant memories, but...
Love Lives On.
Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I just wanted this little transaction over with. I found myself blocking out what the settlement attorney was saying by singing the theme to “Elmo’s World”…in my head only, of course! You gotta do what works and when I realized that I hardly had a chance of making it out of this office without falling apart, this is how I coped. Not sure why that particular tune came to mind, but it made me laugh a bit inside.
As I signed each document, I fought back so many thoughts…
Really? I’m selling my grandparents house and they don’t have any idea?
Really? A house was worth nearly $200K is worth less than car?
Really? They will never go home again…they will spend the remainder of their days in a secured Alzheimer’s unit of a nursing home.
What if----?
Who will----?
And I even thought about my uncle. Though he is responsible for this mess, I have to think of him too. Family is family. Certainly, he didn’t wake up one day and decide to create heartache for so many. Drugs and alcohol decide that for you. I hold on to the hope that he is getting clean and getting help. I believe that one day, he will have to face the fierce sting I have over these last 3 ½ months. He didn’t get to say good-bye to this place like I did today. And the reality is, he may not even have the chance to say goodbye to his parents. I can’t imagine what it must be like for him to survey the damage…to be the one that held the detonator that set off this explosion…
I know I had to sell it and that doing so will be a relief…but I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming heaviness.
I made it through closing, truly a miracle! Got to my car and fell apart before I even left the parking lot. Though my heart felt like a shadow had been cast over it, a spark still lingered. Without hesitation, I headed back to 1926 to finish what I started this morning. I had no right to this place any longer but was graciously granted permission to go back from “my realtor-turned-friend/superhero.”
I had already prepared what I wanted to write on the studs before the new walls were built. Determined not to be defeated by my emotions, I entered the house. I did it for my grandmother. I did it for my grandfather. I did it for my uncle…and my dad…for the countless others who are somehow tied to the situation. I did it for myself.
Don’t minimize the power of therapeutic exercises! They may seem ridiculous but have the potential to have a profound impact. It’s now Thursday morning and though I cried many more tears last night, I am comforted by the image of what I left on those walls….somehow, in some very small way, I left my handprint there… a mark acknowledging all the pain and joy that those walls have seen…a mark that proclaims I was there and I cared…a mark that helps me to forge ahead and resist looking back.
Below is the message I wrote on what remained of of 1926 this past Wednesday. I think my message spoke for us all...
November 10, 2010
For those who have been hurt and held here...
For the hands that will breathe new life into this place...
For the family that will make this house their new home....
Choose love.
Forgive even though you can’t forget.
Be sure to laugh.
Take time to listen.
Look beyond fault and find favor.
Cherish family.
Relish in the simplest of pleasures.
Welcome each new day as an opportunity to determine your legacy.
This house will never be the same and neither will I.
Both are forever changed.
Days gone by are distant memories, but...
Love Lives On.