I drove by it thrice today: the little house with the purple awnings.
It’s on the street near my children’s school… within walking distance, in fact. It almost always has a For Rent sign out front and seems perennially in a state of slight disrepair.
Barbara used to pass the house and say, “Paige, I could rent that house. And then you and your brothers could stay with me and I could walk you to school in the morning.”
We knew she wasn’t going to rent it, but the idea of having her so close was so appealing to us all.
“Whenever the boys are giving you trouble you can just walk over here,” she’d say to Paige. “We could have sleepovers.”
Grandma’s little cottage we sometimes called it.
But then Grandma died in a car crash— almost exactly two years ago. When that happened, our dreams of seeing her often and Paige’s fantasy of having her in the little cottage died too.
And so, today — and every day when I pass the house with the purple awnings– I think of her. And miss her. And all of the memories we could be making in the little house with the purple awnings right now.
You honor Barbara with such sweet memories. Thank you for sharing them with us.
What a very sweet post! How remarkable that just a few paragraphs can paint such a lovely
little story.
This made me sad, but it was so beautiful.
I know exactly the house you are talking about. That would have been a perfect location for Barbara. I wish she could still rent it, too.
My kids lost their grandmother too soon, as well. Feeling our children’s pain is much worse than our own. Feeling yours in this post…
This post made my heart thump. I feel those feelings too when I go out of my way and drive by my folks old house. I love that you have special, imaginary times in the little house with the purple awnings. I am also truly sorry that you will be unable to make real memories there. Very lovely tribute to your dear mother-in law.
Lisa,
Those memories are bitter sweet, even though you knew she’d never rent the house, the thought of it is comforting and yet so sad for what might have been. I’ve had a lot of those memories about James and suspect I always will.
Thanks for sharing,
Brenda
Love her, miss her, cherish the wonderful memories you have. Thinking of what might have been is always a painful and futile exercise.
What a beautiful post. That little cottage now represents loss to you in a heart breakingly sad, yet lovely way. I guess that’s what grieving is all about, a strange mix of emotion, sadness and yet beauty.
I have thoughts like this all the time — a house, a restaurant, a store… memories that you never got to make.
Beautiful story Lisa.