Grandpa's Ranch

My dad's house sold today. Affectionately deemed "Grandpas Ranch" by my children, due to the abundance of orange trees on the property.  Every time we visit, their job is to pick a bucketful of oranges each.   I never loved the "Ranch House" it was never my home, but it was my parents retirement home, where they planned to live out the rest of their days. 

My mom is everywhere in that house, so is my dad, their personal touches are everywhere, even with it nearly vacant.   I couldn't get over the empty dining room, my mom had glamorous taste.  When she found a huge carved dining room table that seated 12 without the leaves, she bought it, imagining Thanksgiving dinners with her family gathered around it. She never bothered to measure it.   The table seated 20 with all the leaves, or so we were told, but we never tried it.  Even without the leaves it barely fit in the dining room.   One side of the table had to be seated, then you had to slide the table over to seat the other side.  Once you were seated, you were seated for the rest of dinner.   It was comical, and we laughed about it at every holiday.   Even though the table was too big, my mom couldn't resist the matching sideboard which swallowed up the entire wall, but she loved it.   Now the table rests in someone's home, but the memories will stay with us. 

The strange thing about losing someone is there are always all these chapters that come to an end.  You think, "this is the end of a chapter" when the funeral is over, then you disperse the belongings and think "no wait, THIS is the end of this chapter," but it's not.   Then there is a new marriage, a new wife, the house sells and you think this is the end of this chapter or an era.  But it's not... for my sweet Dad this is not the end, but a new beginning, and he is excited for it.   A big part of me is selfish and wants to keep my dad with me forever, after all, I'm his little girl.  Except, I'm not little, I'm married, I have a family of my own, and I'm not entirely his anymore and he is not entirely mine.  I mourn for my children who are losing a Grandpa who was with them weekly for the last few years, and while there is Skype, email, and the occasional visit, it won't be equal to that one on one time they had.  They will manage, I will manage, it's what we do, keep moving forward, one chapter at a time, because when one chapter comes to an end, a new chapter begins full of possibility.