I have always lived close to my grandparents. They built a house on a hill when I was one. When I was two, my parents and I moved into that house while construction was underway on our own house at the bottom of that hill. Since we were so close, I spent a lot of time there as a kid.
Much has changed since then. My grandfather has passed away, and my grandmother has remarried. I now have three younger siblings, and the little house at the bottom of the hill has gotten crowded.
Back to the house on the top of the hill. For several reasons, my grandparents have sold their home and are in the process of moving into a smaller house. Today I went up to help the sort through the boxes that have piled up in their attic: what should be kept, thrown away, or sold.
With people who have lived such rich lives, many memories were unearthed in the process.
Happy memories of grandchildren and children, long hikes in the woods, companies owned, and travels documented. I saw the fabric that my grandfather printed by hand that was used to make the stage curtains for “The Phantom of the Opera” on Broadway. I saw pictures of my grandmother as a young missionary in New Mexico. She got to be a bridesmaid in a Mexican wedding. I saw pictures of both of them as children.
Sad memories of children and grandchildren that were taken to Heaven before they experienced this world. Sympathy cards and poems that bring to your eyes.
Although it’s hard for me to help my grandparents move out of a home that was so important to my childhood, I’m glad to help them and learn more about my family history.