Growing up 1500 miles away, my brothers and I looked forward to the annual summer vacation "to the farm" which usually included a big softball game in the yard with all the cousins, homemade ice cream, and catching fireflies after dark. The farmhouse itself looked like it came straight out of a commercial for lemonade with its long white columns surrounded by fields of tall corn. My dad, on the other hand, grew up in what these days we'd call a dysfunctional family consisting of his parents' repeated brushes with the law, moonshine, divorce, and constant moving about from sub-standard house to house, and from school to school. He certainly didn't have a majestic white farmhouse to call "home."
Therefore, when he bought his first house, a modest one in Bellingham, at the age of 40, he desired to create a stable homestead of his own. It worked. He turned the 3-bedroom house into a 6-bedroom house, built a deck, and tended the huge yard.
Even after my brothers and I grew up and moved out, my parents stubbornly held onto the house "so you'll have somewhere to come home to." I believe I was the most vocal one opposed to them EVER selling the house. It seemed a little silly for two retired people to live all alone in a 6-bedroom house with a gigantic yard, but it was more than just a house. It represented the beginning of his own dynasty. When Curt and I bought the house next door, we further advanced the notion of a family compound.
Every summer, when my brothers' families came home to visit, we'd have mass picnics on the deck, and play cards until all hours of the night. The grandkids would run back and forth from our house to Grandma's house. There would be Slip-n-Slide set up on the side yard on hot days, and a huge game of kick the can after dinner. During all this, Grandpa was in his element, admiring the family unit he'd established. Ironically, he didn't actually like the reality of having all the grandkids around, screaming and making racket. It was too much stimulation for him. But he adored the idea that they all came home to the family homestead every summer.When Curt and I sold our house next door and moved first to Portland and then to New Zealand, we put a serious dent in his dream of a family compound. But they still had the red house for people to come home to.
When Dad had a serious stroke 6 months before his death, we all wondered what to do about the house. Should Mom sell it? Were we too attached to it to ever sell it?
My older brother Scott came to the rescue.
He and his wife were tired of their current lifestyle and wanted to move back to Bellingham to raise their kids. Eventually it came to pass that they would move into the house with my mom, help her with my dad's final days, and eventually take care of her when the time comes. This way she gets to stay in the house. The house stays in the family. There will still be a place for us "to come home to." Finally, most widows would come home after the funeral to a lonely, empty house but instead, she's got a lively, loving family to keep her young. She's pretty lucky.Naturally, there are problems associated with Scott's family moving in. Blending two households as they've done is a monumental task of constant give and take, and he and his wife Diana have been consistently sensitive to my mom's feelings. They've been working out whose dishes to use and which cupboards to put them in, etc. They have 3 blenders, 2 coffee makers, 2 can openers, etc. And that's just the kitchen! There's also too many couches, 2 dining room tables, and 2 washing machines. It's a nightmare.
But I have no doubt that they will work it all out to everyone's satisfaction. Diana's going to be wonderful to have in the house with my mom. They get along well (who doesn't get along with my mom?!?), and Diana is especially aware that Mom has certain places where things go and certain ways of doing things. They're both pretty amazing ladies. They'll be good for each other.On a different level, my other brother and I have to get used to the idea of going "home" to the red house, which is now Scott's house instead of Grandma's house. It's a subtle difference, but one that takes some adjustment. That's one reason why I was so happy to be able to stay for 3 weeks after Dad died. It helped me start to feel like Scott's house was still home.
I also have to resign myself to Scott and Diana being the ones who will take care of my mom. Since I was the one who stayed in the same town and lived next door, I'd always assumed I'd get the privilege of taking care of my mom in her later years. Plus I was the only daughter. And we were best friends.
It just seemed natural that I would take care of her. Now it looks like Scott will be taking care of her and I'm a little sad about that. Of course, I'm also the one who moved halfway across the world, so I pretty much lost my position as primary caretaker then. It's my own fault. But I'm still sad that I won't get to be with my mommy. : (What does Mom think of all this? She's thrilled to have Scott's family there. She is also bemused at how we are "fighting" over who gets to take care of her. She's only 72 and in perfect health, so she doesn't need anyone to take care of her at the moment! My dad would not be at all surprised to see how devoted we are to my dear sweet mother. But he might be a little surprised - and very pleased - to see three generations of the family living there. I think the red house has truly earned the name homestead now.
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