A house is made of brick and mortar, but home is made by the people who live there.
M.K. Soni
When we lose someone close to us, nobody warns us that we will be forced to say goodbye multiple times. We say goodbye at a funeral. We say goodbye to traditions that we used to enjoy with them and then again as special occasions come and go and they aren’t here to celebrate with us. And sometimes we say goodbye to things we used to do and places we used to go because we just can’t bear to do those things or go those places without them.
I’ve written before about how I lost one of my best friends last year. Tara was one of my oldest and dearest, someone who knew me through almost all the stages of my life and loved me anyway. In the past 15 months without her, I have grieved her in so many ways and for so many reasons that I’ve lost count. I grieved for her on the first Mother’s Day her kids had without her and I grieved for her as I flipped the calendar to July, our shared birthday month. I grieved her when my teenagers were testing me a little more than usual and I needed someone who would understand without judgment and reassure me that I was still a good mom. I’ve grieved her on all the holidays but even more so on the regular days when I’ve wished more than anything I could call her or pop over for a tea and a game of Five Crown or Scattergories. And I’ve especially missed her on the days where I needed a timeout from everything and she’d invite me for a kitchen dance party and a sleepover.
The things I admired most about my dear Tara were her independence, her drive and her bravery. She could do absolutely anything she put her mind to. One example of this was the fact that she bought her own house before she even turned 30. And it was the perfect house for her – classic, clean and in need of just a little TLC. I remember walking into the house when she closed on it, with my twin babies in tow, plunking them on the carpet in the empty living room and just feeling so proud of her. She had bought this house all on her own and over the years, she would transform it into a beautiful home.
It was a place she loved and of which she was so proud. She was the most gracious host and her exceptional culinary skills often resulted in her guests asking for her recipes (I still dream about her bacon-wrapped water chestnuts). Her kitchen was truly the heart of the home as well as the spot for many a late night dance party. It bore witness to countless card games, loud and off key singing and some of the most delicious baking you have ever tasted. Her home always felt warm and welcoming, a place you always liked to visit and were never in a hurry to leave.
Her home was always a special place to me, too. It was where I could go when I needed a break. It was like a calm refuge when things would get chaotic with 2 kids at home. My husband would sometimes say to me when he would see I was feeling stressed, “Why don’t you call Tara and go for a visit?” Even he recognized that being there, with her, helped me relax and I’d come back rested (hungover, but rested) and recharged.
Last night I went over to Tara’s house, not to play cards or to have a dance party but instead to say yet another goodbye. Today the house is officially sold and new owners will move into the space that holds so many fond memories of my beautiful friend. As I walked through the empty house, I could recall so many moments that came almost in flashes – her disappointment when the original oven broke and she had to replace it with a modern one that she felt “had no character at all”, the milkbox on the side of the house where I’d drop things off or pick things up if she wasn’t home including a cheeky puzzle that said F&*% when she was going through treatment, the rec room that was recently finished and she didn’t get to enjoy for long enough and the long ago removed carpet where I sat my boys when we visited the house for the first time.
My hope is that the new owners love and appreciate the beautiful home they are now lucky to call theirs, even though in my mind it will always be hers. I thought it only fitting that I saw the house empty the day after she bought it and then saw it empty again the day before it sold. While all the furniture has been removed, the cupboards were empty and the closets bare, the house was still full – full of memories, brimming with laughs and overflowing with gratitude and pride.
So as I pulled away from the curb for one last time, I said goodbye to the house that was so much more than 4 walls and a roof. It is a testament to my friend and her determination and drive. It is another closed chapter in a story I wasn’t ready to be done writing. And it is one more goodbye to one of the most special friends I will ever have.
