Packing boxes and unpacking memories

A candy dish I had given my mother-in-law years ago.

The hardest part of moving a household, for me, is the emotional. The memories. 

These past few days, I’ve helped my sister-in-law — My Favourite Husband's (MFH's) sister — pack up the household of my father-in-law. This is the second move of his I’ve helped with and it was harder for me than the first one. 

With his first move, almost 20 years ago, my mother-in-law was still alive. MFH was not only alive but healthy. It was more emotional for his immediate family because the acreage they were moving from was the home all the kids remember. It was where they grew up, where they came home to. It was safe, secure and beautiful, set along the riverbank of the North Saskatchewan River. When MFH thought about home, the acreage was where his mind went first until he purchased a home of his own.

His parents retired young and sold the school bus company they owned. Without the need for a large shop and bus storage area, they decided to sell the acreage and move to town. They purchased the home I just helped pack up.

MFH and I were together for 27 years, so this house holds the bulk of my memories. This house holds family dinner memories. It holds memories of birthday celebrations and of people stopping by just because. I can hear the ghost of my MIL’s laugh whispering through the rooms and smell her amazing cooking, as all of our mouths salivated in anticipation of another excellent meal. My FIL, content to be the quiet man he is, sat back and enjoyed the laughter of his grandkids as they played and of his adult kids as they teased and challenged each other as only grown adults do (without the fear of being sent to the corner for misbehaving). This house echoed with love and, although the people who came to visit weren’t perfect, we were loved. And we thought it would last for a long time, if not forever. 

But this house holds hurt as well. A little over four years ago, it was where my MIL told us she had pancreatic cancer. It was spreading quickly and that treatment would buy her mere months so she was declining it. It was in my FIL’s bedroom that she laid in bed and told me she loved me as I held her hand. It was there that I thanked her for treating me like family and she replied “you are family.” Mere weeks later, she passed away in hospice care during COVID-19 and the return to that home echoed with the sadness of the loss of its matriarch.

It was also to this house that I came about little over three years ago to break my FIL’s heart as I told him MFH, his eldest child, had died. And although he had never lived in this home, I swear I heard his voice telling me I was doing a good job helping ... for an old girl with bad knees.

But life shifts and changes. Years pass, people age. And the time for this house to be a part of the family was done. It was time for a new family to create memories in its rooms. 

My FIL, tired of maintaining a large home built for many but lived in by one, decided he no longer wanted the upkeep. He had been hiring out the lawn care and snow shovelling the past few years but he no longer wanted that responsibility. He was tired of cooking for himself, cleaning for himself. Even though his hearing has deteriorated to the point of being gone, he still craved social interaction. With everyone leading full and busy lives, he wasn’t connecting as often as he liked. He put his name on a list to get into a seniors lodge but the wait-list for someone who can physically care for himself is long — in his case, over a year.

My BIL has offered to have him live there. It’s a large home and my FIL would have a large room for his TV, his computer along with his bed and dresser. There’s also a sun room that overlooks a reservoir and my BIL has brought over familiar furniture for my FIL so he can relax and enjoy the view. It’s a place where he will be loved and cared for. 

And so, the decision made, he’s listing this home — the home I’ve helped pack — and has moved into his new residence. 

My SIL and I not only packed his belongings but many of my MIL’s, as the only things we had packed and donated four years ago were her clothes and personal items. We sorted through her china cabinet, through kitchen cupboards, the office. We emptied bathrooms, storage rooms, spare rooms. One of the hardest things was trying to do it while trying not to be sentimental about stuff. The reality is that we couldn’t — nor did we want to — keep everything. We rummaged through the good stuff — kitchen items that grown grandkids might want as they moved out and on with their adult lives. 

Going in, I had hoped to get two things: a candy dish that MFH and I had bought my MIL for Mother's Day years ago. It’s a pretty little white Fenton antique that I had spent time (and MFH patience) rooting for. The other thing was our wedding picture. It hung on a wall in the front room of this house since my in-laws had moved in. The wedding pictures of their three kids and their partners, faded by the sun, never came down from the wall … until the move. I didn’t get the chance to ask for the picture because my BIL took all three down and hung them up in my FIL’s new room. That, along with a family picture, is what my FIL wanted. It makes me cry a little that he treasures them. 

I did come home with a few small mementos and a self-propelled lawn mower. Perhaps not sentimental but there’s nothing wrong with a little practical thrown into the mix.

Items packed, donations boxed up and driven to a local donation centre. Large furniture movers and cleaners booked for the end of the week.

An appointment made with the realtor to list the house and hopeful sell it before the snow sets in.

With that, I closed my eyes and cried as I said goodbye to a house that was a home. A house that I might be setting foot into for the last time. 

What I need to remember, though, is that it’s just a house without the people. It’s not the house that created the memories but the people who lived in it and are a part of its history. The people I will carry with me in my heart, in my mind, in my life. 

Reminding myself of that made it a little easier as I watched that house recede in my mirror as I drove away one last time.