My entire childhood revolved around the old victorian on the bluff above the ocean. Easter egg hunts are one of my lasting memories – the yard was huge, with hedges dividing areas of focus. The large vase in my favorite nook was made by Uncle Charlie. Ceramic glazed, a bit lumpy, crooked, and very large (3 feet or so), I spent hours studying its unique traits. We spent many weekends with friends and family at the Big House, barbequing on the deck with the Habachi, taking in the view overlooking the ocean, and exploring the beach below. We were surrounded by lush landscaping and you could see for miles on a clear day. A true gem in a very suburban setting.
As I became older and extended family no longer visited, the Big House became a bit deserted but I still loved spending time there with Grandma. There was the Pink Room, the Doll Room, the Library, Grandma’s Room, and a small room with just a toilet, and one with the tub and sink. Each room held all a treasure trove of antiques collected over many years during Grandma’s lifetime. The library was my absolute favorite room. She had McGuffy Readers! I was allowed to read them because Grandma knew how much I treasured books – but they could never leave the library. The desk was huge and sat in a shady cove of windows. It felt very stately and elegant and made me feel important.
As I began my adult life, the Big House was my place of refuge where I could get away from the hassles of life for a bit. After my Aunt moved in, my mom started caretaking for the little house next door. We had our perfect, private place where the Bay Area and Sacramento hustle and bustle didn’t exist. I didn’t realize how much I valued that little getaway until I was losing it.
My Aunt had passed a few months previous, and the Big House had to be sold. We were planning to be at the Estate Sale – although I am not sure why I wanted to watch the place being cleaned out. It turns out that was the weekend my Mom had her brain aneurysm. Poetic Justice? Fate? I never got a chance to really say goodbye. Mom would not be coming back to this home. There was not a thing I could do except watch the new owners move in, and pack up Mom’s things while setting aside my mourning for a later time.
There were items I wished I could have had if only for the memories. I am very grateful that there was one thing set aside for me. Someone in the family told the estate people to hold the painting – it wasn’t for sale. It had been painted for and gifted to Grandma sometime in the early years of her living there. The scene was rugged and not anything like it looks now, but it encompasses the feelings and love in that house that was a large part of my childhood.
When caregiving is thrust upon you, the realization of the permanence of certain things takes a while to sink in. For me, the loss of my place of refuge was a really big deal. Not only was I suddenly faced with life decisions to make for my Mom, not knowing how things would progress, put me in a place of survival mode. You don’t want to think too far into the future, you just gulp down your fears and do what you have to do to take care of your family. The loss of my special place was compounded with knowing my Mom would never be the same again, that we would never have those peaceful walks along the water or lunches on the deck. The loss of this place got lumped in with all my other emotional losses and it has taken this much time for me to reflect back and sort out how I still feel about all of this.
It has been so hard to say goodbye to that time in my life. I believe my grief around that was quite delayed as I didn’t have time to process everything that was happening with my Mom, let alone grieve for the loss of my childhood dream. It is 15 years later and I am still processing the loss. It was just a house, but my childhood dream was to own that house one day. We all have to let go of dreams sometimes, but that doesn’t make it any easier to cope with a loss of what could have been. Acceptance is as close as I can get.
I remind myself to be grateful for all that I have. My mom survived, and that should be all that matters. I am also grateful that I took my kids for one last Easter Egg Hunt the last spring we had the Big House. They don’t remember, but I do.
Have you experienced the loss of a childhood dream because your life was sidetracked? Let me know in the comments.
