In 2011, my siblings and I helped our parents slowly divest of those things in that house. Some things, like my old bicycle from the 1980s, we gave away via Freecycle or the equivalent targeted gifting platform. My dad loved peering out from his study window at the people who came to collect the free things: the bicycle, the 3 (!) fertilizer spreaders for his lovely lawn, the super from an apartment building downtown, who coveted the 1950 floor scrubber with all the original attachments still in the box!
Helping them farewell this house brought all of us together from far away. They took their beloved furniture pieces and the most important trinkets with them to an independent living apartment; local dealers drooled over the mid century modern bedroom sets and other carefully-chosen elements of their modest but comfortable life as they readied for the next stage.
Being able to peel away the layers of their history with slow care made it so much easier. I will carry this lesson forward myself, emptying my house as I live here so there is less of a painful exhumation at the end.
Honestly, Kelly, that's just one reason I moved to a smaller city. I've been actively working on creating community up here so that I can be in someone else's posse and vice versa.
Perhaps the most beautiful piece I've ever read from you, Julia. And it speaks so eloquently to why I find autumn, of all the seasons, the most intensely poignant and bittersweet.
Thanks, Jan. I recall that day so vividly, and asked what I'd be doing when it was my turn. I had a very unhappy relationship and badly wanted to move. I have a feeling that day was what decided me.
I remember vividly going through my Mother's things when we moved her to a nursing home. I have her corner cherry cabinet - handmade and it belonged to her mother. When we built our house 15 years ago, I made sure I had a spot in our dining room that would be its resting place. The cherry cabinet is still there today. I cherish it and when I look at it, I think of her. Moving forward, I wonder who will want the cherry cabinet when I am ready to move on.
This piece hit hard. My 93 year old mother passed away after two weeks in hospital on Sept. 23. My brothers and I were with her the last day. We’d just moved dad into a care facility two days before. He’s 95, and needs 24/7 care. My brothers and I had been staying with him on rotation till he got placed. He’s settled in now, and we’ve been dealing with the family home.
On top of that, I’ve been involved in three deaths in the past month as a fire fighter, a drowning of a thirteen year old boy in a flash flood, and last week the death and difficult extrication of a nine year old boy and his grandmother from an horrific five vehicle crash. It’s been a tough month.
This caught me deeply in the gut, Kirk. I'm so glad you're the one doing the work as I have such complete faith in your ability to handle all this. That said, I am so sorry that you have to bear witness to such things, especially when it's the very young who pass all too soon. Thank you for sharing this, and for what it's worth I hold a very deep space for you and your parents. My father passed at 84; we were estranged; my mother passed at 91, laughing at dirty limericks right up to the very end. I understand she was found in her bed that next morning with a smile on her face, having passed peacefully in the night, the last thing she heard were the kind words of her "boyfriend" saying good night. I hold that as a fine memory of my mother's last conscious moment and am deeply grateful for that perspective.
You have your waters. The kayaking, the peace, the absolution of Nature and the endless understanding of the cycle of giving and taking that is part of life. I am so glad you paddle for I suspect sanity lies in being on the waves and the quiet.
Beautiful, Julia…the leaves swirling and crunchy … the years flying by quicker it seems…the time to reflect on what’s ahead. I love how you were there for her; understand how meaningful friendships are as we age. Made me tear up and recall those moments of mine. A brilliant piece of writing… the connection between grief and jo! ❤️ May we all find support and joy between our tears! ☺️💕
The way you wrote about the swirling leaves and the passing years! such a beautiful and bittersweet reflection. It made me think about how fast time moves, and how we often only realize it when it’s too late. It made me pause, and think, and I'm grateful for it.
Wow, this is the all-about-life that hits us the hardest. My tears are falling, yet I feel a smile sprouting as I recall your words "I would hear their laughter, life’s fix for all that pains us, ring out from across the street." That life saving 'shift' that brings us back to live in whatever space of joy we can, is a most precious one. Bless you for sharing this, Julia. MUCH LOVE ~Wendy 💜
In 2011, my siblings and I helped our parents slowly divest of those things in that house. Some things, like my old bicycle from the 1980s, we gave away via Freecycle or the equivalent targeted gifting platform. My dad loved peering out from his study window at the people who came to collect the free things: the bicycle, the 3 (!) fertilizer spreaders for his lovely lawn, the super from an apartment building downtown, who coveted the 1950 floor scrubber with all the original attachments still in the box!
Helping them farewell this house brought all of us together from far away. They took their beloved furniture pieces and the most important trinkets with them to an independent living apartment; local dealers drooled over the mid century modern bedroom sets and other carefully-chosen elements of their modest but comfortable life as they readied for the next stage.
Being able to peel away the layers of their history with slow care made it so much easier. I will carry this lesson forward myself, emptying my house as I live here so there is less of a painful exhumation at the end.
You know I'm, stealing this.
BTW I am loving my Lizzie Tights from Ibex. Pricey, but they are nice.
Gorgeous. What grace to have a posse at the end.
Honestly, Kelly, that's just one reason I moved to a smaller city. I've been actively working on creating community up here so that I can be in someone else's posse and vice versa.
Wise! I wish we lived closer.
Me too Kelly!
This makes me want to envelop myself in the love of my girlfriends 💕. I hope we will have a posse like this.
Thanks for the lovely article.🩶
Amen a hundred times over
Perhaps the most beautiful piece I've ever read from you, Julia. And it speaks so eloquently to why I find autumn, of all the seasons, the most intensely poignant and bittersweet.
Thanks, Jan. I recall that day so vividly, and asked what I'd be doing when it was my turn. I had a very unhappy relationship and badly wanted to move. I have a feeling that day was what decided me.
I remember vividly going through my Mother's things when we moved her to a nursing home. I have her corner cherry cabinet - handmade and it belonged to her mother. When we built our house 15 years ago, I made sure I had a spot in our dining room that would be its resting place. The cherry cabinet is still there today. I cherish it and when I look at it, I think of her. Moving forward, I wonder who will want the cherry cabinet when I am ready to move on.
That is always the question. Where will our treasures live in someone else's life, if at all?
What a moving piece 🍂
Thank you so kindly.
Hi Julia
This piece hit hard. My 93 year old mother passed away after two weeks in hospital on Sept. 23. My brothers and I were with her the last day. We’d just moved dad into a care facility two days before. He’s 95, and needs 24/7 care. My brothers and I had been staying with him on rotation till he got placed. He’s settled in now, and we’ve been dealing with the family home.
On top of that, I’ve been involved in three deaths in the past month as a fire fighter, a drowning of a thirteen year old boy in a flash flood, and last week the death and difficult extrication of a nine year old boy and his grandmother from an horrific five vehicle crash. It’s been a tough month.
Better days ahead.
Kirk
This caught me deeply in the gut, Kirk. I'm so glad you're the one doing the work as I have such complete faith in your ability to handle all this. That said, I am so sorry that you have to bear witness to such things, especially when it's the very young who pass all too soon. Thank you for sharing this, and for what it's worth I hold a very deep space for you and your parents. My father passed at 84; we were estranged; my mother passed at 91, laughing at dirty limericks right up to the very end. I understand she was found in her bed that next morning with a smile on her face, having passed peacefully in the night, the last thing she heard were the kind words of her "boyfriend" saying good night. I hold that as a fine memory of my mother's last conscious moment and am deeply grateful for that perspective.
You have your waters. The kayaking, the peace, the absolution of Nature and the endless understanding of the cycle of giving and taking that is part of life. I am so glad you paddle for I suspect sanity lies in being on the waves and the quiet.
Beautiful piece, Julia. It brought to mind a poem by Rumi called 'Bird Wings' - you'll see why if you get a chance to read it. 🐦 🐦⬛
Beautiful, Julia…the leaves swirling and crunchy … the years flying by quicker it seems…the time to reflect on what’s ahead. I love how you were there for her; understand how meaningful friendships are as we age. Made me tear up and recall those moments of mine. A brilliant piece of writing… the connection between grief and jo! ❤️ May we all find support and joy between our tears! ☺️💕
Joy is available. Grief is inevitable. Suffering is optional. All of these are choices, and let’s make good ones, Joan.
This one had me in tears…but I love the posse - may we all have one in the end. Beautiful piece Julia. 🩵
I read this while listening to the falling leaves video that you provided. Simply beautiful and poignant.
thanks, Michelle. I swear that was a day that really changed my perspective.
The way you wrote about the swirling leaves and the passing years! such a beautiful and bittersweet reflection. It made me think about how fast time moves, and how we often only realize it when it’s too late. It made me pause, and think, and I'm grateful for it.
Thank you so much, Mohika.
What a wonderful evocative piece of writing. Thank you.
Thank you, Lou. It was quite a day. I remember it so very vividly.
Wow, this is the all-about-life that hits us the hardest. My tears are falling, yet I feel a smile sprouting as I recall your words "I would hear their laughter, life’s fix for all that pains us, ring out from across the street." That life saving 'shift' that brings us back to live in whatever space of joy we can, is a most precious one. Bless you for sharing this, Julia. MUCH LOVE ~Wendy 💜
Heartfelt thanks, Wendy. It was equally hard to write it and recall that day, but that day likely changed my life.