A few nights ago, I made one last trip to the house I’d just sold. The official “closing” was the following day.
I’d been working on downsizing and emptying out the house for months and months, however somehow it still turned out that on that very last night, I had a ton of work left to do.
I felt overwhelmed, certain that I’d be making multiple trips back and forth to my new home all night with boxes and boxes of “stuff.” Then I’d have to clean everything to leave it ship shape. Yes, I was in for a long night.
I started in the garage. When the door opened, my eyes immediately fell upon a big gray plastic tote. I had set it aside for my neighbor, Irene. A retired Phys Ed teacher who could sometimes be a bit of a sourpuss, Irene lived alone in a modest little house down the street. Her life revolved around being a foster mom to a revolving door of disabled elderly dogs.
In the box was a brand new dog bed and a bunch of dog toys. A few years ago, we had lost our dog Jack suddenly, and he never got to use them. I knew Irene would appreciate them. However, what seemed like a thoughtful idea initially, that night seemed like maybe not such a great idea. I’d have to make a special trip down to Irene’s. And she was quite the talker. The visit would set me considerably behind in the work I had to do that night.
I confess that I considered just throwing the box in the garbage so I could move on with the rest of my work. What had Irene really ever done for me, anyway? But I knew how much she needed the box. I sighed, picked it up and made my way down to Irene’s.
I knocked on her front door, and she peered out suspiciously. Then broke out into a smile and said cheerily, “Oh! Hello! It’s so good to see you!” She looked at the box rather quizzically.
“I brought you some of Jack’s stuff that we never used,” I said. Irene thanked me and told me how much she appreciated that I’d taken the time to give them to her.
She then went on to bend my ear for half an hour, with comprehensive updates about the elderly dogs she was fostering and their various states of disrepair. I was anxious to get going, but I knew she was lonely and didn’t have many people to talk to. I listened patiently until I finally had to tell her, “Irene, I’m sorry, but I really have to get going. I only have a couple hours tonight to clear the place out.”
Irene hugged me tight, thanked me again profusely, and we said our goodbyes.
“I probably won’t see you ever again,” she said, a bit choked up. I laughed and said, “Oh, don’t worry. The boys and I will stop by the old neighborhood to visit.” Saying this, I was pretty sure that I would probably never lay eyes on Irene again.
I then went back to the house and began frantically vacuuming and mopping upstairs.
A few minutes later, I heard the doorbell ring, the front door open and someone say, “Jane?”
I recognized the voice—sure enough, it was Irene. Oh, no! Another interruption. She probably forgot to tell me something “important.” Now I was kicking myself for having taken the time to go to her house in the first place.
I raced down the stairs to meet Irene in the doorway. She was smiling broadly, holding a small pumpkin out to me. “I meant to give this to you!” she said proudly. “I made it. I really want you to have this one. It means so much to me that you came to see me.”
I distractedly took the pumpkin from her hands without even looking at it, and thanked her. We hugged and said our goodbyes again, and I went back to my work.
Four hours (and four carloads) later, I was done—everything was out of the house, ready for the new owners.
I took one last pass through the house, wandering from room to room, pausing in each one. In the months readying for the move, in order to focus I’d had to suppress my emotions about leaving. Now, memories came flooding back. Family Christmases with loved ones. Kitchen Karaoke Nights. The daily comings and goings and noises of a bustling household.
This was it. We’d never be back again. Nothing would ever be the same again. For as much as that house made me sad because it reminded me of my family that had moved on, the house was all I had left of them, and I had to let it go.
I turned the lights out, and locked the door behind me for the last time.
I arrived at my new home late that night both a physical and emotional mess. I emptied the last load out of the car. As I closed the hatch, I saw a glimpse of orange in the back seat. It was the little pumpkin. I grabbed it, went in the house, plopped it on the living room floor and collapsed on the couch.
After I’d recuperated a bit, I glanced over at the pumpkin. And it was then that I saw it.
In my haste to get Irene out of the house that night, I hadn’t even noticed that the pumpkin had a message imprinted on it.
Be Kind.
I broke down and sobbed. I suddenly realized that out of all the “important” things I had to do that last night, the most meaningful one was to take that time for Irene. To be kind.
And, Irene, thank you for being kind to me when I needed it most.
Happy Halloween.
