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Posted - 16 March 2015 . . . Background: Five Shultz siblings) spent two long weekends - cleaning out the family Sheffield Street house. We filled two large dumpsters. Toughest was sorting out personnel items, photos, old letters, stuff that triggered memories. We became melancholy, recalling events of the old house - even at times teary eyed.
Drove back to NH and couldn’t sleep until I wrote down my thoughts.
<> Below is the text of my thoughts . . .
'64 Classmates will experience some variation of parting with old stored boxes of family treasures . . . Hope this writeup will trigger memories, it was therapeutic for me.
(also hope it posts in a readable form)
Bob Shultz sends
<> Home . . . Lingering Memories
A few exhausting days gathering up items that surrounded us, items that defined us in our youth and in strange unexplainable ways all of our adult lives. Common everyday items that together with the memories triggered by them, somehow defined our parents, ourselves, our offspring, our extended family, our core.
Simple, cape style, built in 1925 with that wonderful round-top front door. Bought by our young parents, over fifty years ago with much love, hope and unquestioned commitment to family.
In these fall days, over fifty years accumulated content being dismantled, by their offspring, five siblings, one tiny piece at a time.
Most items quickly gathered up out of every drawer, cabinet, corner, or long term hiding place. Without much thought, discarded as trash and out of our lives forever.
But some items silently spoke out to us, some even shouting out to us. Sharing with our siblings, "remember, this goes back to" that summer, that game, that storm, that day, that special moment some thirty, forty, fifty years ago.
The summers where we left our house on our bike just after breakfast and went off on own for the whole day of friends and play.
We did yard work today on this slice of heaven as we have done for all these many years.
Flashbacks, thoughts of years gone by, as many as the falling leaves. It was a real pleasure to rake, weed and spruce up the lawn once again.
What a joy to share with love ones, that special time, that family story, triggered as we sort out old toys, things we built as kids, photos faded by the years, an old letter, Dad's Army uniform, a letter home to his mom during the war, "Why did Mom save report cards?"
Knickknacks by the dozen, that big oval picture of Grandma, kids in photo after photo lined up by age, grand-kid photos, that Anniversary Video . . . All of it.
Just soak it up, embrace it, and tuck it all up as many more great memories.
Remembering why we had bought this or that for mom, why we had to have this trinket on that vacation so many years ago. Stuff that came back with our parents from their trips.
Some pot or kitchen utensil our extended family thought we needed for that Thanksgiving. Left with us, intending to become a part of decades of future Thanksgivings.
Our extended family only entered our small town world a few times a year, but that was enough. Enough to know they also had found the inner calm of finding and knowing a true home. They had captured, by virtue of just being exposed to, the magic of a secure, comforting, loving family we enjoyed every day of our lives.
Yes, we called it simply home, knew as our home, no matter where we were, what challenges or joys, successes or failures we experienced.
Didn't matter, home didn't impact that moment, but gave us all a dependable patch on this earth. Comfort in this quaint, postcard worthy, modest structure, filled with everyday items, accumulated over decades of living, loving, working, laughing, crying, comforting, and thankfully creating lasting memories.
Memories that are truly ours, forever.
Together, we will soon empty our long-time family home. Sell and go through the motions, however difficult, of ending this wonderful chapter of our collective lives.
As we stop, wipe away the sweat, quench our thirst, seek out a quiet spot, numbness and sadness overwhelms. Both parents, all our grand parents, uncles, aunts, even some cousins, kids we grew up with, neighbors and close friends, have past, many buried in nearby cemeteries. It does give one pause.
But life just is.
Thankful we had this home and its meaningful impact on our family and lives.
Life is a gift, a one-time gift.
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