The House that Built Me

July was a painful month. The house that I spent my whole life growing in (until I moved away from home) was sold. For those who follow my blog and know me well enough to know my family, know that my Mom has mobility challenges. The house that my Dad built from the ground up (he even sawed the logs and milled them) was built in such a way that my Dad was the only one to maintain it all these years.

This is pretty common practice where I’m from. Many men build their own houses, and if not, they certainly have been the ones to keep up the maintenance on them by themselves. The house is two stories, it’s heated by a wood furnace that’s located in the basement, and does not have running water. So for a senior with mobility challenges, and no drivers licence either, that wasn’t a safe or feasible place for my Mom to live alone. As hard as it was to leave, we didn’t feel there was a choice.

Some of you might have read that and thought how did you grow up like that? With gratitude. With grit.

My Dad was of the generation of Labrador men who made use of everything to its fullest extent. If it was fixable, it was fixed. Buying anything new was a last resort. And if you didn’t know how to do something, you learned, through trial and error – or you had an elder that was able to show you. My Dad was that elder for many.

Packing up the last of my Mom’s belongings, doing a final walk through of the empty house still full of memories, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. When I stood in the porch one final time before locking the door, I spoke out loud and said thank you to Dad for the beautiful life he built for me and Mom. And then I left. It still feels like Dad is there, out in the shed. His spirit, or his soul, probably is.

This morning (Aug 2 – I backdated) I took an early morning walk with Kane. I pushed myself to go just a little bit further than usual. When I got to the point where I decided I would turn around, there it was on the ground.. a 10mm wrench. A sign of my Dad. I found six of them when I cleaned out his shed. The most popular tool for a mechanic, I know because I spent many years helping Dad fix engines. He’s still with me.

In mourning,
M.