THE LAST GOODBYE

It’s all quiet now.

Everything’s gone.  It’s so empty.

It doesn’t look real.  It doesn’t look like my home anymore. 

The reality of the fact that this is no longer my home, hits now.

As I stand in the empty lounge, ghosts and memories of the past flood my mind.  I peer out the lace curtains at the front garden, and see the flowers blooming.  I smile at the cheeky weeds that are sneaking through; rebellious from their lack of attention.

As I touch the rich, velvet drapes, they seem to be hanging a little heavier today, as if they too are full of the sorrow I feel.

I run a finger over the scroll work on the archway between the lounge and hallway as I walk past; the archway that my Dad installed, and the scrolls that I insisted he paint white so they stand out a little.

I look for the phone table in the hallway, but that corner is bare.  The hall table, that is older than I am, is no longer sitting in pride of place; the same place it sat in for 48 years.

I walk into Mum’s bedroom, and the pastel pink walls glare at me.  There are no beautiful white furnishings to soften them anymore.

I look at the huge window, and smile at the memory of the cat sitting on the sill, watching the builders across the road construct some new dwellings.  Stupid cat.

I wander into my bedroom, and straighten the mirror doors so it looks nice and neat.  I close the curtains, and look skyward.  I smile to myself as the hundreds of little stars I stuck on the ceiling over 25 years ago emit a soft, luminous glow.

Even as an adult, I would lie in bed and look up at that ceiling, the stars creating a sky of dreams for me.   I wonder if another child may enjoy that sight on day?  I hope so.

As I walk down the hallway, I stop; the absence of the cross stitches I made for my mother make it seem startlingly naked.

I am alone in the house, and smile to myself as I lean against the wall, arms outstretched.  A 40 year old woman hugging a wall.  Yep.  Even this beloved old place needs a hug.

The kitchen and dining room are bare and lifeless.  No kettle on the bench; no chux over the tap.  No fresh flowers in one of a myriad of vases in the centre of the table.  No fruit bowl.

The spare bedroom, that barely had room for a bed, seems so huge now it’s empty.  Didn’t notice how nice the carpet was in there…

Then I wander into the heart of this home, and that’s when it hits me.

The back room seems so empty; so void of life now.  There are no recliners to fight over.  There is no coffee table, which is so inadequately small, because we cannot fit the platters of cakes, slices and sandwiches on them to feed our visitors.  There are no people filling the chairs, having four different conversations at once. 

There is no scratching post or cat toys scattered around the floor. There is no cat sitting in front of the telly, trying to tap the tennis ball as it moves around the screen.

There is no life here now.

What’s this?  I spy something sitting against the skirting boards.  A little wooden ball, about an inch in size.  I smile to myself as images of the cat smacking the ball around the house fill my mind.  I can hear the sound of it rattling across the lino as she chased it…

I tuck it into my pocket.  Must give it back to her when Mum moves into the unit.  Stupid cat.

I walk out the back door, and into the breezeway.  How startlingly empty it is now.  There are no racks full of blooming, bursting plants here anymore.  No life growing.  Nothing.  Every pot plant and hanging basket is gone.

I check the garage doors; they’re locked.  I don’t want to look inside, because it’s stark and empty now.  The place I use to seek out my father, and would find him tinkering away at something; the place that smelled like a mechanics workshop.  And always will.

I don’t look as Mum locks the back door for the final time.

I wander up the driveway, admiring the garden for one last time.  I won’t come back here.  I just can’t…

Half a dozen different varieties of salvia, shrimp plants, camellias, seaside daisies, crocus, roses, tulips, iris’s, Johnny jump-ups, petunias, lobelia, succulents, lavender, gazania and a million other things I don’t know the names of… all putting on a pretty show for me.  I touch one of the Henry Owen camellias, and it immediately drops to the ground, scattering it’s petals amongst the other flora.

Mum is standing at the end of the driveway, waiting for me.  Our bags are in the car; we are ready to go.

As I stand at the top of the driveway, my hand resting on the weathered picket fence my Dad built with love, I turn to have one last look at my home.

As tears blur my vision, I swear I see the house droop in sorrow, for it knows it’s losing its family. 

Why do I feel like I’ve let it down?

What will the future hold for you, my old friend?  What will become of you? 

Hopefully, you will be filled with the joy of another family that will give you the love and care that you so richly deserve.

Until I see you again, old friend; I smile as I turn away.

Thanks for the memories.