"A Trip To Memory"

A few days ago I went to Clinton, South Carolina which is the place where I was born and grew up. I don't go back there very often since my father and mother are both dead. I still have a few relatives there but no one I am especially close to. The purpose of my visit was to get some furniture out of the house my father and stepmother shared. My stepmother is in a nursing home now and will not ever return to her home.

The furniture I was picking up belonged to my mother. It was Kershaw furniture and I wanted it to be in my home and eventually passed on to my children. I also wanted some family pictures that would mean something to me and no one else.

My father and stepmother's home is right next to the house where my mother and father lived along with my brother and me. I had keys to both homes so I was able to walk through them. Going into the house of my childhood was the event that evoked the most memories. It had been twenty or thirty years since I had been in it and the memories did come back with a rush.

It was the kitchen that made me the most nostalgic. I looked at it and suddenly I could remember cold winter days when we would rush from our bedroom to the kitchen to stand in front of the oven on the stove. Mother wold make us cheese toast and we would have coffee milk to drink. 

It was in the kitchen where our dogs always had their puppies. Mother would bring our dog in when her due date was near, and she would keep her inside until the puppies were born. We were kept out of the kitchen during the birthing process so when we got to see our dog shewould be lying there with a large number of puppies around her.

The kitchen had a back door that led into a fenced in back yard. I remember being a child and thinking the steps that led down into the back yard were so high. They don't look high any more. Also the back yard was huge in my childhood memories and now it is postage stamp size. How in the world did we ever ride our bikes back there? There is hardly enough room to turn around.

As I peered into the bedroom I shared with my brother I could see all the furniture that used to be there. Our beds were lined up in an "L" shape against the corner where the windows were. We slept with the windows open and there was always a breeze blowing into the room. No wonder I slept so good growing up.

Standing in that house I could close my eyes and hear the squeaky voices my brother and I used to have. I could hear the low murmur of a tune my mother used to hum. I could smell the bitter sweet sweat of my father when he came home after a long day's work. It was all there waiting to be remembered.

The house I grew up in is the house I lived in when my mother got sick and died. Even with that traumatic event occurring there, it is still a house with good memories. Unlike the house next door where I have mostly bad ones.

I don't know when or if I will ever go back to Clinton. The past is gone and the memories that were good I carry with me. Still I am glad I made that last trip "home." It was good to visit the past one last time.
 

 

 

 

 

©2007 Jackie K. Cooper

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