The Day the Old House Became Just a Memory

It was built in 1932, and it was one of the homes of my youth.

The old house sat just about 4 miles outside Taylorsville, Mississippi (in Smith County). I remember when Fellowship Road wasn't paved, and when it rained, you were unable to drive on it.

I spent almost every holiday and every summer in the little house. In the summer, my little brother and I were there with our mother and with aunts and cousins. We loved summer! We were able to spend time with Granny and our family.

After Granny passed away, in 1973, my father who was the oldest of the eight children was the child who ended up with the "home place." Dad and Mom lived there after Granny died. When Mom passed away, in 1993, my husband and I bought my brother's part of the homeplace.

I NEVER wanted to "retire" to Smith County. I had always wanted to live here when my parents were alive. Once they were gone, it held no allure for me. However, my honey convinced me that we had the property, and this was where we should be.

In 2002, we moved from Astor, Florida (where we had a home, with a deck overlooking the St. John's River) to Taylorsville, Mississippi.

We built a home and we built a shop and we built a life.

And then life changed.

My honey, who had always been a picture of good health was diagnosed with cancer and after less than 4 years, he was gone.

I was left in the home that he had designed and built....on my family's old "homeplace." A 3,000 sq foot home that was too much for one (now old) woman.

On this property, was also the house in which our Granny, and then our parents, had lived. I had always commented that Granny's old house sat in our yard, but actually, our house sat in the yard of the old house.

We had always planned to "get rid of it" when our father's last living sibling, Aunt Ginny, passed away. Aunt Ginny had grown up, in the old house. She had lost both parents, all her siblings, and had buried three husbands and both her children. I just couldn't take away this last connection to her past and her memories.

The problem was that Bob was diagnosed with cancer and Aunt Ginny passed away soon after his diagnosis. Disposing of the old house, was just about the last thing on my caregiver's mind after she died.

The day came when I decided that it was time for me to "go on." To do that, something needed to be done with "the old house"....Granny's old house....the house that Mom and Dad lived in....the house that most of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren grew up in.....the house that everyone knew and loved.

So, on a Monday in July 2018, the son of a cousin brought his big equipment to push the old house down and bury it.

There were requests from cousins that I collect boards—so they could continue to have a part of the little house on Fellowship Road. (I saved boards, and I still have them!)

The decision wasn't easy. I had actually fought with it for several years but finally decided that it must be done. I knew the day would come when it would be an eyesore.

I will NEVER forget when, on the day we were having Uncle James Nicholson's Memorial Luncheon, at my house, cousin Tommy Walker looked at Aunt Ginny (as we sat in rockers, on the front porch of my home) and said, "If you'd go ahead and die, Sarah could get rid of that house."

Of course, knowing Aunt Ginny as we all did, she laughed heartily and said, "I'll work on that."

It's just "stuff" and "boards" and "things"—but that's what makes up a part of our lives.

It hasn't been the same sitting on my porch and looking across my drive and the old house, with all its memories, not being there. But that is how life goes.

We move on. We go on.

I miss the house, and the neighborhood misses the house, but the spot where it once sat does look better!

We still have the sweet memories.