As I attempt to draw out the words and feelings that have flooded my entire being for this post, there’s also a sweet song playing on loop. Ever so softly but it’s these damn catchy words, “it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” that are starting to drive me insane with its relevancy! For a while now I’ve felt the end approaching and I knew I had to do the inevitable sooner or later, I had just presumed and always counted on the latter. But yesterday as I was getting up and setting my feet down on the bristly grey carpet of my room I knew today was going to be that day; the day to say goodbye.
I wanted to share with you Maria my experience of going through each and every room, somewhat documenting it in meticulous detail but also reminiscing. Both good and bad memories that also stole my attention and I wanted to share it all with you somehow, breaking them down, as I know I do not carry the strength to word it all in one go. Starting with the main artery of your home; the hallway and front entrance.
But let me begin right at the start of this story.
Bidding my final farewells to your home. It seemed like such an easy thing to do at the time, that was until the car turned down your street and everything inside me shattered.
Confidence abandoned me and left me wobbling about as if my insides had turned into nothing but mushy goo.
Eventually stepping through your front door I half expected to be greeted by that sweet, musky scent of yours as it had almost all of my life but there was nothing there but that God awful stench of decades old paint. Those fumes were suffocating enough to snap me out of my stupor and continue on with my set mission.
To properly farewell and say my final goodbyes to this place that was once a pivotal part of me and our family.
It wasn’t until I walked past those dainty, old world oval frames that hang in your hallway that I realized I needed to get snapping away. desperately needing to remember every inch, every detail big and small, as it is right now for this would be the last time I ever set foot in your home and may possibly be the last time any part of you and what once was here that still remained in tact.
I made my way through each room and tried to say goodbye, but found myself staring at those barren walls and floors cluttered with your belongings and possessions. Once proudly displayed for all to see and admire, now boxed away haphazardly, hidden away from view and pitifully awaiting removal. I decided then and there that I needed to imprint these scenes to memory and not trusting my sieve of a brain to hold onto such moments for too long, I brought out the trusty iPhone and started photographing away.
Some solace finally found.
This chandelier. Something I never paid much attention to but always disliking, only eventually growing to appreciate and love her. She was a piece that I began to relate to as she was always so out of place in your hodge-podge of seventies interior styling, never quite fitting in with the surrounding decor but shining brightly regardless. I admired that about her, not letting her settings dull her shine, it was always something I yearned I could bravely do, one day.
She hangs proudly by your front door, its small stature deceptively hiding away its true worth. Those tiny clear tear drops that hang in a classic fashion to an untrained eye would appear to be nothing more than plastic, but I know they’re the most brilliant cut crystal. Something I happened to learn once whilst helping you dust and clean it. Each piece possibly hand carved into shape and adorned with different cuts so when a shred of light touched them they would encase the front entrance in a dazzling light, throwing blazing sparks and rainbows here, there and everywhere.
Then there is that quaint little emerald-green rug that sleeps by your door, guarding the shoes of those whom pay you a visit. Now turned over on it’s back, exposing the coarse twine that holds in the weave of dark yarn, probably turned over to hide the sea of paint splatters that now litters it’s once radiant surface. I am going to miss seeing him.
Even that horrendously seventies stained glass feature beside the front door; hued in a garish orange and embossed with a circular pattern. I hardly ever used that green mat since you never cared too much if my brother or I came inside with our shoes on and that glass feature was good for nothing more than to bang against to announce our arrival. I still remember the pain of continuously knocking my knuckles against it’s hard and bumpy surface. The way they would turn an angry crimson as I tenderized them against that cold surface. To think I may never again strike my hand against that steel-like surface or even catch another glimpse of that stark green carpet mat.
I will most definitely miss it, miss both, miss it all.