Quietly There.
By the time I got through this week, my lilacs would be gone.
They’re one of my favorite flowers and don’t stay for long.
I didn’t want to leave. The trip would be a hard one. No easy way to get there, and few places to stay. One of my uncles, Dave, had died. I didn’t attend the funeral. Too busy, but that’s just an excuse. So I chose to help clean out his house.
I arrived early in the day, expecting to be done by about noon. The doormat said ‘Welcome,’ but it didn’t look too worn. Opening the door, the entry spilled into the living room. Maybe 800 square feet total for the entire place. Shouldn’t take too long.
The first thing I saw was an old dog dish (a neighbor adopted the dog). I hadn’t known he had a dog. Heard it was a beagle mix.
My uncle grew up in a house with six siblings about five miles from here. I remember hearing from my dad that it was heated by a potbelly stove in the middle of the main room, with a dirt floor, right in the city. He never married. Navy vet. He’s buried at the military cemetery.
The main floor is empty, no furniture. The local church accepted it all to repurpose for others. That’s good. Stack of books on the floor where an old armchair might have been. A historical fiction book about Patton, an Annie Dillard novel, and a dog-eared Bible. Two items hanging on the wall: a certificate from the Navy for meritorious service, and a framed print of a streetscape somewhere. London? Paris? Cleveland? No idea.
The bedroom closet held a few shirts and jackets, old man clothes, primarily Carhartt and Dickies stuff. He worked at the Ford plant for most of his career. Never moved off the assembly line. Heard he didn’t want to. There’s a small cigar box on the shelf. Strange that it’s still here. A watch, a tie tack, a pair of cuff links, and a discount card for the local barber shop. All that will go in the donation bin with the clothes at the thrift store.
The odds and ends of a life.
Christmas for me as a child meant needed clothing, and one ‘on the list’ gift. The big haul? The stuff we REALLY wanted? Those presents came from Santa Claus. The stuff my parents couldn’t afford. I was well into adulthood when I learned who Santa Claus was: my uncle Dave.
After boxing up what I could and stacking the load near the front door, I started sweeping up. There wasn’t much dust or dirt, a paper clip, a twist tie, and a small piece of what appeared to be a Ritz Crackers box. Less dog hair than I expected.
Then I remembered there was a garage out back. Dammit. No car to deal with, that was sold years ago when he could no longer safely drive. Guess I’m not leaving at noon. I have an afternoon flight out, and I don’t want to miss it.
Walked out back and there it was.
The most glorious little lilac tree, in full purple glory. Blossoms gently shifting in the wind.