The Side Door

My Dearest Nana,

I hope this letter finds you well. Mom has informed me that the house has sold, and that Christmas was the last time we will see it.

Although I understand your decision, I must tell you how much my bones ache saying goodbye.

A few years back you had mentioned wanting to sell the house but I assumed it was in jest. I did however start taking snapshots;

Every creak in the stairs.

Every picture on the wall.

Every detail framed in my mind so I never forget the home that played a distinct role in my life.

Christmas was beautiful; it was not repetitive, but nostalgic. Now knowing I will never return, it all seems like a fever dream.

Walking in through the side door as you have always requested, I saw you in the kitchen wearing your cute little apron covering your Christmas shirt. The smell of cookies transported me back in time when we spent late nights baking together. I set my belongings down and wrapped my arms tightly around you. I will never pass up a hug from you Nana, they are as warm as the cookies you had pulled out of the oven right before I walked in.

The formal living room was decorated perfectly, as it always is. The hardwood echoed beneath my heels as I walked past the old stereo we used to play your Elton John CDs on. Our socks would glide, turning Ariel and me into ice skaters as we performed for our esteemed panel of judges. The sweet sounds of Michael Bublé’s Christmas Album played in the background as we spun around your tree sparkling with decades of memories, gifts overflowing below it.

It took no time at all for my kids to get their hands on your singing plushies. One song playing over another, little feet rushing across the floor to hit the next button; it dawned on me they were the second generation of your grandchildren to make memories in this room.

Before walking out, I paused to greet uncle Keith’s memorial on the fireplace mantel. His picture was hanging tall with his cowboy hat above his ashes. Even though it feels morbid having him right there, I am certain he would appreciate you keeping him around for the occasions.

It never has been the same without him. I miss the way his laughter filled the room. He had the dumbest jokes, but god were they funny. There was this dumb blonde joke he always told, something about her shouting “POTATO” in the field. Despite being blonde myself, those always made me laugh the hardest. Things seemed so much lighter with him around, didn’t they?

When you needed something from the basement, I embarked on a brief journey to save you the trip. As I reached the landing on the staircase, I was stunned. The familiar smell of mildew was ever present in the air, but, in place of old toys and VHS tapes were boxes packed to the ceiling. I squeezed in between the rows of boxes and felt a tinge of sadness remembering the days I spent dressing my Barbies and playing with baby dolls. Ariel and I always argued over what movie would play, funnily enough that has never changed.

Looking back, the adults played their cards upstairs while we would rush to the basement to open our new gifts. I would hear the roaring laughter and rolling chairs from above and dream of the day I could be a part of the joke. I wanted the grown-up Kool-Aid, the cigarettes, anything to be like you. By the time I was old enough to join, you all had stopped playing cards. No longer are the walls filled with laughter on holidays either. Our family has stopped doing a lot of things together, haven’t we?

Unexpectedly emotional, I composed myself and walked upstairs into the family room. Papaw was sitting in his recliner watching “Ancient Aliens”. I swear he only left that thing twice the whole night. It’s funny, even on vacation in the RV he would make the driver’s seat his recliner for the evening, he must find comfort in chairs in the way I find comfort in you. We only shared a few words, which is to be expected with him. Heck, he even says “I love you” in sign language.

I couldn’t help but notice your Christmas Village was not as big this year, but I love how you always manage to put it out. I took the liberty of plugging it in to brighten up the dimly lit room. Taking in every detail of this village is my favorite part of Christmas. I love watching the little figures ice skating, seeing the twinkling lights beneath the snow, the town hall placed ever so slightly away from the toy shop, the houses nestled on makeshift hills. There’s not a version of myself that hasn’t loved that village. There’s not a year of my life where I have walked by this village and not dreamt of living inside of it. I have to say, Christmas is the perfect way to say goodbye. Wouldn’t you agree, Nana?

In a moment of silence after the crowd had departed, I wanted to reflect. I always thought that if something ever happened to you, I could always visit the house. Now I realize, I won’t even be able to do that. Five generations of our family have sat within the walls of that home, can you believe that?

When I left through the side door as requested, I peeked over my shoulder one last time. The girl who baked cookies in her Nana’s kitchen, the child who skated in her socks and dreamed of growing older lived in this house. The angsty teenager, the hopeless adult. Every life I have lived has seen the walls of this house, and every new life I live will preserve its memory.

Sending my love,

Your Beloved Granddaughter

Abigail