A Crooked Vulture

This past week, my grandma’s house was put up for sale and it sold over the weekend. She and my grandpa had lived there over fifty years but, with his passing a couple years ago and her subsequent decline, she hasn’t lived there for a little while now. It was simply a matter of time before it was going to be put on the market. I don’t think anyone expected it to sell so quickly, but it did and the grandchildren and great grandchildren were supposed to gather in the house to see if there was anything we wanted before it was sold or thrown away. I’ve never felt more like a vulture.

The hardest part was watching my grandma walk through the house and see the memories come flooding back to her. Then the tears came. There were some things that I thought I really wanted, like this functioning Victrola (and an amazing collection of 78’s), but that feeling faded fast. No one else wanted the smaller Victrola that played cylinders, so I asked for it and a bookcase and felt horrible for it. I know my grandma wants some of her possessions to find a good home, but I just felt like I was picking over the carcass of a still-breathing animal and I had the strongest urge to get out of that house as quickly as possible. It felt so strange to see her moving about the house and feel like I was at her funeral at the same time. I’m sure I’m not the only one to ever feel like that, but I don’t ever want a repeat of it again.

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