Our last visit in the big yellow house

a post about moving on before you want to

They’re putting me in a nursing home you know.

My nanny’s words fell from her mouth, hung in the air then drifted away like a child’s sad, red helium balloon waltzing with the wind.

I know.

This was my last visit with my nanny in her big yellow house on the hill.

Even though her home is merely 800 square feet and came on the back of a truck, I have always thought of it as the big yellow house on the hill.

I’ve spent my entire life visiting her in that house.

And now that time is winding down.

She’s been there for well over fifty years. Her time there is coming to an end.

I’m an old woman. I’m going to be dead soon.

What did I reply? What could I reply?

I know. I’ll miss you.

My nanny looked weary and afraid.

I wonder what it’s like to be dead?

Here I had more road to run on.

Well, you said that we’re all just energy and you can’t kill energy. So I imagine that you’ll be everywhere. You already are. Through your time here with your family and this campground, your energy, your work and efforts? They’ve touched thousands of lives.

I continued: Every shriek of joy from a child or cheer of triumph from the campground - those experiences have your fingerprints all over them. You didn’t merely make a place. You created a spot filled with joy where people have made some of the best memories of their lives for over fifty years.

My nanny’s eyes brightened.

I guess I’ll be happier in a home. I spend a night on the floor and I couldn’t get up. I spent a night in the bath as well.

She had been in fierce denial about her move.

And you’re social. There will be people around.

Yes, that’s true. I get awfully lonely here - especially in the winter.

She smiled for a moment.

What will happen when I die?

The shadow of those words hung in the room just long enough for us both to have that quick sand feeling in our chests.

There will be a funeral and there, I’ll tell everyone about living with you after Granddad died and just how important you’ve been to me.

Nanny shook her head at the thought of Ellis.

He’s been gone a long time.

But Nanny, I countered, he’s always with us. His energy, his memory and impact, it’s all around us. He’s never really left. Nor will you.

We sat there in silence for a while eventually falling asleep with the TeeVee on.

The next visit to Lake Charlotte?

It will be different. Nanny will be alive but she won’t be there.

And though she doesn’t create the roar of a boat, the call of a chainsaw or a whoop of excitement, life will be more quiet without her there.

I’m not looking forward to it.