Goodbye Old House, Thank You For The Double Spoon

00:00:10
Speaker 1: This is Lee Habib, and this is Our American Stories. Up next, a story from Bonnie Brown Rocliffe entitled, “Goodbye Old House.” Bonnie is a writing student of one of our frequent contributors, Leslie Leyland Fields, and we thank her for turning us on to this story. Take it away, Bonnie.

00:00:32
Speaker 2: My childhood home was sold, and I had just about three months left with the house that raised me. Three months felt like plenty of time to finish the cleaning and get the house ready for its new owners. What I wasn’t prepared for was the anticipation of selling, which I knew was the proper next step, but this was actually breaking my heart in the process. I now faced this old house, still full of so many memories, but gone were the two people that brought it to life: my parents. I spent many months cleaning this house, and I became convinced that my parents never threw anything away. Every time I walked through the front door, which was almost daily, I was greeted with the old house smell that reminded me of my mom long after she was gone, the old hardwood floors, and the furniture that was now dusty, dim, and hollow. But it still brought me to always thinking to myself, “This house still smells like Mom!” I swear I could still smell her perfume lingering, and this was comforting to me. The days seemed to pass by slowly, leading up to that final day with my house. I cleaned, purged, and tackled each room slowly and steadily, so as to carefully consider all of my parents’ possessions and where they would go from this house. I had a pit in my stomach that just kept growing each day. Three days before the actual date when I would no longer be able to go into my old house anymore, I was vacuuming, washing the floors, cleaning the appliances, and going through every single cupboard and closet, so as not to leave a single item behind. I remember leaving the house that day feeling like it was ready to go, now completely empty, cleaned through, and would welcome its new family in just three short days. The drive back to my own house that day was bleak. I cried the whole way home. The final day arrived, which meant this was the last day I would be able to access my childhood home forever. I was feeling very somber. Everything was surreal. The lump in my throat and hollowness in my stomach were making themselves very known. I took pictures of every room, the front and backyard, my dad’s favorite rows of Sharon Bush, our growth wall, the quaint gazebo area where many of our family pets were buried, and my dad’s homemade bird houses that he was always so proud of. I sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor in the middle of the living room in my empty house, with tears streaming down my cheeks. I said goodbye to my childhood home. I wished the house many memories with its new family, and told our old house to help raise that new family well. Just before I was ready to leave that day, I even had my key in the front door. I couldn’t shake this nagging feeling telling me to go through the cupboards and closets one last time. My first thought to this nagging feeling was, “Don’t be silly.” I stood at the front door, debating with myself. Do I or don’t I go through the house one more time? Oh, what could it hurt? It’ll only take a few minutes. In the kitchen, the final two cupboards left to check were the lowest two in the corner. I needed to get down on my hands and knees to see them properly, which I had already done numerous times with these two cupboards. This time, however, at the very front of the left side of the cupboard when I opened it was my dad’s double spoon sitting right in front of me. I just stared at the double spoon, which I literally had not laid eyes on in years. I could feel my heart pounding a bit. As I reached in to pick up the double spoon, I said to this silly double spoon, “How did you get in there?” And then I spoke to my dad, “Dad, did you put this here for me to find on my final day in this house?” I slipped the double spoon into my purse, finished checking the cupboards and closets, and then slowly left my childhood home for the final time forever. What is this double spoon I speak of? I refer to it as silly because we had many laughs about this object that my dad invented. It has two regular tablespoons that were screwed together and glued at the handles so that each end was the actual spoon shape. The reason my dad invented the double spoon was for when he was barbecuing his mouth-watering roasts on special holidays. He needed multiple spoons for spreading his equally delicious homemade barbecue sauce on the roast. By using his double spoon creation, he could just flip the spoon and start over without having to go back to the house from the far back of the yard to get another spoon. He thought this was genius, and we liked to tease him about this odd-looking, silly spoon. However, it did the job it was intended for, and he didn’t have to make as many trips back to the house from his backyard barbecue. Finding this double spoon was actually a turning point for me, which I didn’t quite realize at the time. When I arrived back home at my house, I pulled the double spoon from my purse and set it on my kitchen counter. Every time I walked by that spoon, I smiled and also kept thinking, “Why was this spoon sitting in that cupboard today and how did I not see it before?” My oldest son stopped by that same afternoon. He immediately saw the double spoon sitting on the countertop, and he said to me, “Oh, where did you find Papa’s double spoon?” I said to him, “How strange it was to find it today,” and I was still bewildered. To my surprise, my son did not share in my questioning thoughts at all. Without missing a beat, he said to me, “Papa put this spoon there for you to find today—your last day at that house. He wants you to know you do not need to go back inside anymore. It’s okay now to leave this house and not look back.” I closed my eyes and the tears began to flow. My son had been in the front row witnessing my deep grief over the last two years as I was working through my parents’ estate and now selling our house. He knew how hard this day would have been for me to leave that house forever. His words brought me instant peace, and I felt like love had wrapped its arms around me. This was a direct message from my dad. “You don’t need to go back inside. It’s time to flip the spoon and get on with your life now.” I held my son so tight and thanked him for helping me to see this message through all of my sadness, fear, and doubt that I had been like a gray cloud over me for many months. Now, that day changed me. I miss my old house quite intensely some days, and other days I can just drive by and smile, knowing that a young family has a wonderful home to help raise their children. I keep the double spoon on my bookshelf. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of my dad’s message: “Flip the spoon. It’s time to live your life, remember the good times, and know that you are always surrounded by our love.”

00:09:18
Speaker 1: And a special thanks to Bonnie Brown Rocliffe for sharing her story, and my goodness, for anybody who’s had to go through this with their parents. I did. My mom died, and my dad did not want to live in that house anymore, and he invited all the kids over, and we went through everything. We laughed, we cried. We picked our own things that meant the most to us, and we took them to our homes. For anybody who’s been through this, I hope this piece brought you peace. The story of Bonnie Brown Rocliffe’s house and saying goodbye to it. Here on Our American Stories.