Dad passed away a little over a year ago.  And he left me with an abundance of memories and responsibilities. Neither of which I was prepared for. What used to be called home, is now a hollow shell, cold and empty. And a place once full of life, family, and friends is now tarnished with the scent of death. Everyone is gone, everyone except me. I remain.

I’ve spent a great deal of time over the last few weeks walking from room to room taking it all in. And million memories flood the silence. Just like a carousal of thoughts and emotions, going around and around. Moreover, every room that I enter, the walls whisper to me. Because they remember. And these walls have kept hidden all the things I’ve long since forgotten.

We had the whole world in the palm of our hands. And in the midst of having everything, we didn’t realize that we had nothing. So what if we didn’t always have our favorite food or name brand clothes, we were never hungry and we were always dressed. And Mom and Dad always made our house a home. Because we had family, friends, love, and we had fun.

We were unaware of the sacrifices our parents made every day to make something out of nothing. They did the best they could with what they had. And my brother and I reaped all the benefits. We learned how to make misfortunes into blessings. We learned mind over matter, and triumph over failure. I can’t think of a greater gift.

We lived, we loved and we lost. This house no longer smells of pipe tobacco. The sound of music coming from the stereo has been muted. There’s no “Hello, Kiddo’s”, or “Come again soon”. No “I love you Dad’s. We no longer have the sanctuary where you could always be yourself. The place where you could laugh or cry and still be loved unconditionally. There’s no place for the next generation to go to be spoiled by granddad.

The history of this house is something only we will ever know. The love, the sacrifices, the fears, hopes and dreams we lived them together. But now everyone is gone, everyone except me. I remain.