The house where she used to live sits empty. The For Sale sign perched in the snow says it all.
I sit in the truck and stare at the house, my last visit to Ma’s place.
Lots of memories were made here. I’ll bet laughter still echoes in the walls. Tears stain the wood floor…along with a thousand spills from kids, and other things I won’t mention— but they came out of Charlie, the dog.
But…no more. No more memories will be made from here.
Oh, there will be laughter, there will be tears and spills...but not from us, not from her, at least, not from here.
I bite my lip, and close my eyes to squeeze back a tear—but it escapes and rolls down my face.
What’s going to become of our family now? She was the glue, this was the place. We gathered here. We loved and played and fought and forgave—right here in this place.
But now she’s gone. How will the family carry on? This place will be sold to someone we don’t know. No more kids running around in the yard, while Uncle Mark grills enough food for a small army.
No more stopping by just to say hi.
No more poop on the floor from Charlie.
The thought that keeps running through my mind as I stare at the house, that used to be a home is, no more memories will be made here.
The house and sign fill the viewfinder. Perfect shot I think and click the shutter.
Instead of, Picture saved, a different message fills the camera screen.
My first thought thinks it’s funny, so that’s why they call it a smart phone.
But my second thought knows it’s profound, as I stare at the message:
And right then and there, my heart finds peace knowing that Ma’s memory making days were full. Her life was well lived, and it was time for her to go.
And in that peace, we find joy. And in that joy we find strength—strength to carry on and make memories of our own.