Sentimental Sunday: The Old House Down the Road

A few months ago, I received a series of texts that saddened me.  The first was photo of my great-grandparents' house about to be demolished by a looming piece of heavy equipment.  Next came a video of the actual demolition. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it.
 
I never knew my great-grandparents, and the house had been vacant as long as I can remember.  But still, the old house was special to me.  For one thing, my parents got married there. Plus, it was located just down the road from my childhood home, so I saw it almost every day when I was young.  It was a handsome old house, somehow managing to age gracefully even though neglected.  In the spring, a huge wisteria vine covered the house in lavender blooms. 
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The photograph I have chosen to share was taken when the house was in its prime.  I won’t show that last photo. That’s not how I want to remember it. What saddens me most is that despite growing up within sight of the house, I never got to go inside it.  During my childhood, we never entered the house despite its close proximity to ours. Eventually the floor deteriorated to the point that it wasn’t really safe to go inside.  When a cousin inherited the house and made plans to renovate it, my hopes of seeing the interior of the house were revived.  But the house was too dilapidated and he was forced to abandon the project. He eventually sold the property and the new owners decided to tear the house down.  I knew it was coming, but it was still a shock.  When I went back home this summer, I tried to avoid looking at the strangely empty spot where it once stood.  I wish I had insisted on going inside the house at some point, but I didn’t.  And now it’s gone.

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