GrandThoughts: One phase of life ends and another begins

It’s been a year since my mother died.

It seems like last week.

There’s not a day goes by that I don’t ache with pains of missing her. But the pain is about to get worse. On Thursday, when I pull out of her driveway, it will be the last time. We sold her house.

When she died, I knew selling her home would be the last and most difficult step of saying goodbye. I know she’s not there, but when I walk into the house, though we cleared out a lot of things, much of it is the way she left it. It still smells like her.

Her toothbrush was still in its holder, her hairbrush on the bathroom shelf, artwork from my grandchildren displayed on the refrigerator, and the last music she played on her piano was propped up above the keys. At least it was all there until last weekend when we cleaned it all out.

It wasn’t until mid-April, 10 months after she died, that I finally put her house on the market. Eight weeks later, it sold. I was not mentally ready for this, but I knew it was time to let go.

It was in the contract that I got to remove a rose bush and irises from the yard. My son bought the rose bush for Mother’s Day in 1998; the irises were transplanted from my mother’s childhood home. Now they’re all replanted in my yard.

How do you get over losing someone you love with every part of your being? I’ve learned that you don’t. But instead of succumbing to the pain of the loss, you learn to accept it and live with it. I see my mother every single day in myself and in my grandchildren. Thankfully, the grandchildren got to spend a lot of time with Mother, so many of her mannerisms are as plain as day in them.

And they talk about her as much as I do. They’re always quoting her or remembering something she did with them. Just recently, when giving the kids a bath, Evie wanted to use “adult” soap. I use a tears-free children’s liquid soap on the kids.

“Nannie (what my grandchildren called Mother) lets me use adult soap,” she said in present tense.

A year ago, I would have replied, “Well, I’m not Nannie.”

But I said, “If Nannie says it’s OK, it’s OK.”

I love that, even after a year, they talk about her as if they were with her yesterday. I’ve made video recordings of them talking about her so that one day they can share vivid memories of Mother with their own grandchildren. And my mother’s legacy (and my father’s), will be handed down from generation to generation.

For my own peace of mind I’m doing something that I feared my family would find somewhat disturbing. But surprisingly they’ve all given me their support.

I am recreating my mother’s living room in a separate cabin on our property.

Our house has only two bedrooms and, years ago, we built the cabin to have an extra bedroom. If Mother had lived, we were going to convert the spacious structure into a three-room apartment for her.

While half the cabin is used for storage, the other half will now become my sanctuary – a place where I will go to physically connect – of sorts – with my parents. The main room of the cabin has a huge picture window very similar to the window in my mom’s living room. I will hang her curtains there. I will place the sofa, three chairs, stereo, side tables, coffee table, lamps, photographs, mirror and more in the exact same layout she had in her own living room.

I am so excited to do this and I feel fortunate that I have the space. I’ve got a feeling that my grandchildren will enjoy it as well. They used to put on “shows” for us in Mother’s living room and I have no doubt that they’ll want to do the same for me in the “new” living room.

At 62, I’m starting a new phase in my life – unwillingly, mind you. But I’m OK. I’m adjusting and thankfully I’ve got a beautiful family with me every step of the way.

Contact Karen Nazor Hill at khill@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6396.