My sister, Minda, is cleaning out our childhood home. She’s my only sibling still in Cleveland, and now that my father and stepmother have both passed away, it’s time. Here is what Minda has to say about getting our childhood home ready for sale.
I thought my home would be there forever. It would be there for me anytime I wanted to go there. It was a safe place, a place where I could visit with my father and enjoy his company, long after my mother died. It was a place I shared with my siblings when they were home, with my niece and nephew and my great nephews. As an adult, the home took on a new meaning for me. I continued to be attached, but not in the way I was 20 years ago. As an adult, it was the place where my father would grow old, where I would continue to visit him and love him. It was always the one constant in my life.
Not until my father died two years ago at 85 years old, did I start to even think about not being able to be in that house. I say house because that’s what it became when my father died. It ceased to be my home. My stepmother continued to live there. Due to a falling out after my father died, I chose not to be a part of her life. A decision I was, and still remained, very comfortable with. She died several months ago and now we are selling the house.
My siblings and I do not wish to live there. We also don’t wish to be landlords to anyone else. It is, and will continue to be, somewhat painful during this process. Sometimes you find surprises when going through the house. Today I found my dad’s wallet with pictures of his children, his grandchildren and even his parents. I also found a few items of clothing,
some political buttons, his old tackle box, some old notes, and an old calendar. I kept some of those things and threw away the others. I don’t want my home to be a mausoleum to my father. He would hate that. I already have enough in my heart to last me my lifetime.