My Father’s Bedroom/My Father’s Ashes
Today is the closing. The old house will no longer be ours. My brother, two sisters, and I will not be stopping by to sit on the porch and chat. We won’t be wandering through the rooms talking about this or that memory. Fifty-one years. That is how long this house has been our family’s house. Now it will be someone else’s house. A new family will take over.
It’s just a house. I haven’t lived there in years. As I think back, I have mixed emotions. A childhood that was not happy. A crowded home. Crowded. So much love, and pain. The last time I heard my mother’s laughter…there.
My mother died in 1997. My father stayed in the house, alone, until his death this past January.
My brother put the box containing the can filled with my father’s ashes on the bed. My father’s bed. My brother put my father’s hat on the box. The hat has the Rangers logo on it - my father’s number one passion. He loved watching hockey, watching the New York Rangers.
I took a picture of the room. That was eight months ago. My brother has the ashes in his home now. The ashes will be buried with my mother’s ashes eventually. Today the room is empty.