The Empty House

 The Empty House   

It was far enough away from the road that it couldn’t be seen, tall thick shrubs hid it from view. A short gravel road led us down to it. Coming to the driveway, we saw the house. A bit weathered but still looking good. The open faced garage was empty and the small chicken coop was silent.

    We walked up a small slope to the porch and Jim put in the key, something he and Pam didn’t bother with in the past. Opening the door, he stepped inside and hesitated.

    The two of us had driven up to New Hampshire to retrieve his cat. Molly had slipped away while things were getting packed for the move to Pittsburgh. After a month in the wild, a neighbor had found her.

    This house was thought to be Jim and Pam’s “forever” home. Sadly, life doesn’t go the way we plan. What we hope and wish for are often just that, only wishes, not our destiny. After spending close to 15 years here, Pam contracted an extremely serious illness, which soon left Jim alone in the house. The cats, a dog and the chickens kept him company on the property. Jim, being who he is, had plenty of friends but in the end, decided to move back down to Pittsburgh to be closer to his family.

    We walked into the house, emptied of all furniture, looking even larger without anything to break the view. He wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, looked inside for a moment or two and then slowly closed the door. We went towards the back and the bedroom, passing his now empty office.

    I felt as if I was intruding on his visit. I didn’t want to say anything, so I played with my camera. This could be the last time he’d be in this house, the place they built together. This is where he probably thought he would spend the rest of his days.

    Going down into the basement where his shop used to be, we saw a swept floor and concrete walls.  There was no sawdust on the floor, no machinery holding half-finished projects, nothing hanging from the rafters. It definitely wasn’t the way I remembered it. A single workbench was pushed into a corner, the drawers all emptied. A mop hung on the wall, its sponge missing. I don’t know how Jim felt but I felt sad, and depressed.

    Going back upstairs, we went to leave. I noticed a lamp hanging from the high ceiling. Underneath it was where their table used to sit. A window overlooked a row of birdhouses and a stick fence, behind them was a field where birds and wildlife roamed. I remember binoculars sitting on the table along with the usual bric-a-brac of normal life. I thought of the times I sat there with a steaming cup of coffee watching the day begin.

    We walked out to the car, past a small wall in the garden, evidence of the gardening skills that Pam had possessed, now…overgrown. A beautiful house sitting on a perfect piece of property, the house empty, yet filled to the rafters with the countless memories of life.