Meeting Persephone

I'll begin with the back story on my grandfather's house. Easier to start at the beginning.

My grandfather married my grandmother and then went off to the Army. When he came back he got a job and found a piece of land for sale. The man selling the land agreed to finance my grandfather for the price of the land as well as cost to build a basement. They shook on it and the deal was done.

My grandfather built the basement and the family moved in. By the time the basement was finished being built, my grandfather had paid off the loan. It was then time to build the upper level of the house since the family was growing (to be four kids as was the fashionable number of children to have during the baby boom) and so Grandpa sought out the original land owner and, with another shake of the hand, secured enough money to begin building the upstair addition to the house.

The house was built out of wood from old boxcars and while our modern sensibilities might immediately imagine some sort of shanty built from these materials, what actually came to be was a very nice looking 5 bedroom, 2 bathroom, ranch-style home. Every day my father was pulling nails out of the wood from the boxcars and every night Grandpa would come home from work and put those pieces of wood up in the shape of walls.

After seven years the house was completed. My grandpa took immense pride in the accomplishment and just like the basement, by the time the upstairs was complete, the loan had been paid in full. Over the years an enclosed patio, garden walls, a 2-car garage and an inspired fencing made from heater coils from the refinery where my grandfather worked completed the home's transformation.

This is the place where we spent every Sunday of my childhood at family dinners and every Christmas Eve as well. I can still smell all of the wonders of the kitchen as I learned those same recipes and make them for my family now - though it's only the 3 of us. We played, we picked flowers, we clobbered one another with Grandpa's golf clubs, we fought, we swung from the trees in the front yard, and we laughed. It is all that a family home should have been and the memories overwhelm me sometimes.

After my grandmother insisted on a divorce, Grandpa threw himself into projects. He had retired and took on or expanded on hobbies he'd always had. Now that he was alone in a spacious house he spread out and created work rooms for all of his crafts - wood working, leather working, stained glass, fly fishing rods and plants.

When I got married my husband and I were assisted by my grandfather in buying our first home. It was remarkably like the original family home and Grandpa was always available for suggestions and advice on how to fix up problems that existed in our little old house. I think he liked our willingness to work on a home as so few people want to do that these days and in a sense I think that made us kindred spirits. Even when we moved from that home to a new state and bought an even older home, Grandpa was still only a phone call away ready with advice and laughter at our shenanigans. He gave us a hand up and we tried not to let him down. I don't think we did.

But now he's gone and of course that house of his is worth even more financially than the original family home. It sounds as though nobody in the family will get a chance to buy his home. From what I'm hearing, it will be put up for sale and his children will split the profits of it. The end of an era with no consideration for the history nor the heartbreak. I'm too far away now to do much about it and doubt I'd be heard anyway.

Last weekend he came to me in a dream. I have to tell you that this is what both of my grandfathers do - they visit me in dreams. My maternal grandfather passed away 11 years ago and visited me in a dream about a month after leaving this world to tell me that I was handling it great and he was proud of me. This one took a bit longer but I just figured that the suddeness of his departure might have taken him a bit longer to adjust. They were both 78 years old when they died - just a weird detail. Anyway, he was working on some project but this time it was welding. I don't think this was really his thing but hey - it was a dream. I only know that when they come to me in a dream it is meant to be a comfort to me and I don't question it - I only relish the few extra moments I get to spend with them.

I've cried a great deal the past few days over the thought of these homes no longer being part of my family. I'd come to terms with Grandpa being gone - really well in fact after the initial soul ripping - but now that his legacy has been turned into resentment and dollar signs, I'm not quite sure how to cope with it. Of course I must. And of course I will. It's what I do. But I do know that I will never be able to see his home again. Period.