Red Row

“I mean, they weren’t hippies by any means, they just didn’t like a lot of stuff.” That’s how I began explaining my parents to my really nice, new friend, George. He asked me without knowing so I wasn’t angry for him inquiring—but it was hard revisiting my parents only a month after saying goodbye. So despite the heartbreak I felt in the moment when George asked, “Hey, what are your parents like?”, I attempted, but likely fell short, to explain them - how special they were - as best I could. They deserved it.

“My parents were like two adult-children who fell in love with each other, every day,” I continued. “They had a special, mystical love - a youthful, endless love - that made me feel safe and warm and pushed me to believe that being alive was truly magic. We didn’t have a lot of things, by choice - my parents were minimalists - but for every piece of material we didn’t have; moments of unconditional happiness, we did. My mom, Jo, was a beautiful, short and curvy, natural blonde with an energy that was quite loud yet, ironically, somewhat soothing. My dad, Bradley, was this tall, lanky goofball. He had this laugh that lit up a room and his heart was full of gold. We never went to bed mad; we never woke up ungrateful; we always found a way to smile and we loved as if we were dying. I didn’t have any siblings. I overheard my parents one time, talking about trying to give me a sibling, but they realized quickly it wasn’t in the cards for our family. Truthfully, I didn’t care. I loved my life—just me, my mom, my dad and our house… This house!”

“Wait! The house we’re in right now… you lived here?” George asked me as he began putting the pieces together, “That must be why you brought me here… to say goodbye.”

A few weeks after my parents passed away in a sudden and unexpected car accident, our house went up for sale and, within a few days, it was sold. I guess I just wanted to be in my house one last time—to feel their energy, to smell the coffee my dad always made in the morning and my mom’s hair products that sifted from the bathroom to the kitchen. We lived in this old red, rustic barn that my parents bought, and we renovated, a few years ago as a family. We called it “Red Row”, a modern but homey and open, friendly home. My favorite part was the floors—glazed-over, concrete floors that I played on, and laid on, all the time (they were a lot comfier than they looked and a lot warmer than you would think). We lived in North Carolina. The entire North side of the barn encapsulated this view of the Smoky Mountains with tree foliage, water streams and a blue, open sky. It always seemed like we were in this natural rhythm with time that looked, sounded and felt inexplicably serene. My dad, when we first moved in, traded the old wood from the North side of the barn for floor-to-ceiling, sliding window doors - that way, Red Row became one with nature as we sat on the porch, every morning, in our rocking chairs, watching the sunrise.

“Yes, George” I answered, “this is me saying goodbye.”

As George and I migrated from the inside of the barn to the outside, you could hear the wind moving, the birds chirping, the trees swaying and before I knew it, he looked over at me to ask “Is this where it happened? Were you here when your parents passed away?”… Without me having to confirm or respond, he knew the answer. The answer was Yes.

The night that my parents died, they left me alone as they commonly did for a trip to the grocery store or for an occasional date night. Earlier that day, we went for a hike. Everything seemed normal. It was quite the typical Tuesday until something simply didn’t feel right. My intuition was screaming as it got later and later and my parents still weren’t home. I remember that night like it was yesterday - I didn’t even sleep in my own bed. I laid (trying to sleep) with my back firmly up against the corner of our living room in hopes that when they opened the door, just a few feet away, I could surprise them before my fears became a reality - before my biggest nightmare became my fate. As the night got later and later, my parents still weren’t home. But the next morning, I heard a sound. A familiar sound! It was my grandparents at the front door. My grandmother picked me up, I licked her face and barked as loudly as I could. I thought, “Finally, someone came to get me and bring me to my parents”. I was excited to be with my grandmother but quickly felt the pain in her heart as I tasted the tears down her face—in that moment, I just knew - I realized - intuitively, that I would never see my parents again.

“It means a lot to me that you came here with me, George” I thanked my new friend, “but I suppose it's time we get back. What do you say?”

“Wait!” George replied quickly, “Is there anything you want to do or think or say before we leave?”

As we prepared to walk away on our dirty little paws, I looked at my old home, what my parents built as Red Row (the renovated, minimalist barn) and barked out loud “I love you Mom and Dad. And while I love the home you made to love me in, you were always my home and I miss you.”