The Last Gift

 

I knew that eventually this day would come. If I can be honest with myself, I’m glad.  Nevertheless, feelings of sadness and nostalgia are washing over me now.  That’s because next week we will finalize the sale on my Mom and Dad’s home. 

Let me clarify. This was not the house I grew up in; instead, this was where Mom and Dad spent the last 15 years of their lives.  I spent a lot of time over there too.  Maybe I should say I did time over there. In a way it was my own personal version of the Shawshank Redemption.  Mom was always calling me over to do something.  I planted shrubbery in the worst dirt this side of the moon. There was so much red clay it was better suited to making pottery. I built a raised planting bed beside the patio so my father could tend to tomato plants from his wheelchair.  I made a rock garden with a small waterfall, and even constructed a gate for her privacy fence. And of course, I cut the grass and edged about every 2 weeks.  All of it was a labor of love. And Mom made sure I had a lot of labor to love. That’s OK.  I wish I could do it now. 

There were a ton of good memories in that garden home. I got into many an argument about Alabama football with my father during the countless games I watched over there. Going to my parents house to view the final round of Masters is something I still miss every Masters Sunday. 

Thanksgiving at my parent’s house was an annual reminder of what’s a great cook my Mom was. A huge spread with turkey along  with side dishes filled every square inch of her little kitchen.  Her biscuits, dressing, sweet potato casserole, and spaghetti with cheese were legendary. Eating Thanksgiving dinner at my parents would put me in a carb-infused food coma for days. 

Of course, the most cherished memories I have  were my weekly visits. They were nothing special then, but they are now. Sunday afternoon I would head to their house and we would catch up on the events of the prior week. My Dad would require a shot by shot review of my round of golf, and Mom would surely have some little task for me to do. 

Since my mother passed 12 years ago, we’ve been renting the home to my niece and her husband.  You couldn’t ask for better renters. So when they asked to buy it, we immediately agreed.  It’s good to give someone else the problems and benefits of home ownership. On the flip side, even though it will stay in the family, the final thread connecting me and my parents will be severed.  As a result, I’m dealing with a melancholy feeling that I haven’t felt in years. 

I haven’t forgotten that on closing day I, along with my brothers and sisters, will receive a check for my share of the property.  I look at it as a gift - the final gift from my parents. Years after their deaths, my parents are giving something else to us. Memories are the most important. The money is just a nice windfall. 

Thanks again Mom and Dad - we’ll do some good with the gift. And I promise that one day, we’ll pay it forward to our three boys. 

Joe Hobby is a comedian from  Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. 

Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog: https://mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com/?m=1. Also, follow him on Facebook at: Joe Hobby Comedian- Writer