The Pain of a Moment

The house remained, but the family was gone.

The warmth it might once have harnessed in its walls had faded away.

A shell remained. Cracked and broken. Filled with items that could not be packed, that were too heavy to carry or did not hold the weight of memories long gone by.



At least, this is what came to mind as I looked on the property that had been snatched up by a family friend. The lot itself was massive, with three large side yards that could have held numerous farm animals. Left to themselves, grass had grown high and untamed. And dotting the very back lots were piles of garbage that had once been precious trinkets to the family who lived there.

The garage was covered in mold and bent out of shape. Its innards spilled all over the floorline. Old tonka trucks, tools and broken down furniture seemed to make the top of the list of things one could find. And the second garage and little side studio were much the same. Old, broken down appliances littered the shelves while love notes were scribbled onto the walls.

But the house... Seemed special.

It was just too unique not to have been loved once.

Mounds and mounds of antiques had been draped over wardrobes and china cabinets. Whether they had value or not made no difference to me, though it did to those who were cleaning the place.

Those items had once been precious to someone.



From the children's room to the dining area, the basement and up to the second floor lookout. I searched high and low for any semblance of the family that lived here and what their daily life had been. Their clothes, books, paperwork and food remained. But not them. And to the degree the house had turned to ruin I couldn't help, but wonder really...

Had the place been ransacked? Or had it been them...that kept their home in such disarray?

The smell... so old and mildewed. On numerous occasions I had to cover my nose to continue on. But when it came to the master bedroom I had to turn my cuff away and remain present. To soak in what was left of the memories that mattered here.


She must have been a God-fearing woman, whoever she was. Bibles and booklets were hidden in cupboards and stashed away in drawers. The walls were covered in aged cherubs that looked down on those they were watching over. And pictures hung across the archways of angels cradled in one another's embrace.

I took my time in this room and smelled the remnants of the perfumes stashed away on a poorly cared for vanity. Incense burners clung to empty candle stands. A personal place of worship and meditation, I figured. And of the entire household I could feel the pain of a moment here. Of that bitter realization. Everything was for naught. Everything that could not be taken would permanently be gone.

And there would be no home left to go back to.