The House That Built Me

As I write these words, I’m sitting in a living room, that holds the memories of every person I have ever loved. It was eight years ago that my mother became sick and my partner, Bryan, and I decided we needed to move in with her to help out. She still had her snappy wits about her but her legs and lungs weren’t doing so well and I didn’t want her to be alone out here in the country. It turned out to be a great move in many ways but one of the most meaningful to me was the way that Bryan and mom bonded. It was really something special to watch as they sat discussing everything imaginable for hours on end. Bryan told me that right from the start, he felt as though he had known my mom his entire life. He told me what an incredible person she was and how he had never met anyone like her. It was all really wonderful to hear and it made me smile because I knew he meant every word. Ever since my divorce more than a decade earlier, mom had been concerned about me being alone and I could feel the relief in her once she met Bryan.

I didn’t realize at the time just how serious moms medical conditions were, or maybe I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. It was only about six months and four harrowing 911 calls later that she was moved to comfortcare in the Salem hospital. We were joined there by my niece who wanted to say goodbye to her grandma. Mom was so cute, she would pause and say, “Well, I think that’s about all the pearls of wisdom I have to pass on”, and the four of us would chuckle. Still, I don’t think I realized the seriousness of the situation until they stopped all the medication and about five hours later my beautiful mother took her last breath. My sister was abroad on a long planned vacation that my mom insist she take as scheduled. I don’t think any of us really expected this so quickly.

Bryan and I, along with my sister, were planning on selling moms house in Oregon and moving, ‘someplace sunny.’ Oregon had always left a bad taste in Bryan‘s mouth and I’m a pretty flexible, easy-going kind of guy, so why not? Well the universe obviously had other plans because it’s almost a decade later and here I sit, in the same living room I sat in when I was only eight years old. That’s how old I was the year we moved here. Every Christmas, Thanksgiving, each person’s birthday, it was all done here. The house sits right next to a large park and so the family reunions always took place here as well. Yes, the memories in this house run deep for my extended family too.

This is the same living room that five years before my mothers passing, she sat with her second husband, John, when he left this physical world to return home. It was a scene she had lived through about fifteen years earlier when my father passed from lung cancer in this very same room. Mom had married my dad when she was just fifteen-years old. It must have felt like her whole world was ending and I'm glad she was able to find John. Dad was the second person to be in a hospital bed in this living room and my dad was the second person to die in this living room. His hospital bed was set up about ten-feet from where I’m typing these words.

I’m pretty certain the year was 1999 when my big, strong, iron-worker, brother, Paul, moved back home after living in Hawaii for a decade. I'm sure you can imagine our families shock when soon after arriving back in Oregon Paul was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor. It shook me and the rest of the family pretty hard. Everything seemed to happen so fast and Paul’s brain tumor ended up taking his life just months after his diagnosis. He died at the Portland hospital that year. He was only thirty-six years old when he passed and I miss him more than I can express. As I type this, I raise my head to see the door to the bedroom where Paul taught me all about the Beatles and Led Zeppelin. He taught me how to take a bong hit in there and mom caught me smoking out that bedroom window more than once. Mom always knew I was smoking and God knows she tried but I was a devious little shit and I was going to do what I was going to do! Yeah, I idolized Paul during my childhood. He was two years older than me and he seemed to me, everything I wanted to be. So I was always a little jealous and envious. It’s funny, years later he told me he always felt the same way about me. Go figure. I can honestly say that my relationship with Paul, though extremely dysfunctional, shaped the course of my life for many years to come.

Another reason Paul’s death hit me so hard was because I had been through it all before. You see, everything Paul taught me was handed down to him by my older brother Steve. Steve was about eight years older than me and he had led a life that most would consider troubled. Still, he had a great heart and he loved his family. Addiction challenged Steve throughout his life and anytime things got rough he always managed to make his way back to mom and dads house where he would usually collapse and sleep, right here, in this same living room I’m sitting in now. Steve passed away before Paul did and he was only thirty-two years old when cancer ravaged his body. He didn’t want to die in the hospital, so his was the first hospital bed to be setup in the living room of my parents house, and this is where I came to visit him. Right here, in this very room. It was near the end of Steve’s journey when the tumors in his lungs and bones showed as lumps across his once muscular chest. He had a rattling cough and he asked me, “Bro, help me bend forward at the waist when I cough. It helps me cough this crap up and out of my lungs. I know I’m going to die but promise you won’t let me choke to death on my own chobe.” I somehow got through that moment with a smile on my face but later that night when I got home I broke down. It was only a few hours later when my sister called to let me know Steve had passed away. It was such a hard time and yet none of us, Paul included, knew what lie ahead.

I have to be honest here, I am a man who has faced many of my own challenges over the years. My highs have been very high and my lows, well, unfortunately my lows have damaged the lives of those I love the most. But, most of them are gone now and so I guess I can let a lot of that go. I can honestly say, I’m proud of the person I’ve become and I know that most who love me, feel the very same way. Any who don’t, there’s nothing more I can do.

Today I live with Bryan in my parents old house, the house they raised me in, and I’m happy that I’ve stayed. I’ve taken out a wall or two to open it up some but the look and feel is much the same as it was 1975 when they originally purchased it. It sits on about an acre of land on the Willamette River, in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, and my sister and I have scattered the property with the ashes of my father, my mother, and my two brothers. It was always assumed that Paul would end up living here once mom and dad were gone but I guess the fates had a different plan in store. I’m not one who typically spends a lot a time feeling melancholy but tonight I decided to sit here, in this living room that holds the most powerful moments of my life, and listen to Miranda Lambert sing about, “The House That Built Me." With tears streaming down my face (as they always do when I hear this song), I'm missing those that once shared this house with me, but thankful for the man they all helped me to become.

I LOVE YOU ALL!!