Making Space for Eras

the end of this era… and that one too

She would bring us plates of plastic food, made in her play kitchen and we would delight in her creations. But now the play kitchen is gone. It’s been sold on Facebook marketplace. So has her ice cream stand and our train table.

I’m remembering the cones of ice cream, stacked high with different flavors of ice cream and various toppings, and the cute sound the cart would make as it interacted with our children.

I’m remembering the blanket spread on the floor, with dolls and teddy bears seated around its edges, and a real tea party going on. She was the best hostess.

She would set up an imaginary school room too, with the stuffed animals in rows, and papers in front of each of them, and she would seat herself in front of them all as their teacher.

But these innocent times disappeared so fast. Whether she grew up and naturally lost interest in creative play like this, or screens came roaring in and took over a place of prominence in her life, I don’t know. But it was bittersweet to put a $20 price tag on these well-loved toys and see them carted out our front door.

It is the end of an era.

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As I was selling these toys, I was also in the early grief for the death of my dad, my second parent to die in eight months. With their deaths was the loss of my family of origin, of stability, of family lore, of unconditional love and an anchoring of who I was. Although I am married and the mother of two, with a brother who lives on the west coast, I somehow felt very alone in this world without my parents here to visit with, lean on, and share things with. The grief has felt unbearable, with daily bouts of tears and longing for things to be the way they once were. There are so many things I want to show them and have them experience with us.

It is the end of an era.

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Shortly after my dad’s death, my brother wanted to get on with the business of selling their house. It felt soon, too soon to deal with, because I was exhausted emotionally and physically. But we were headed into prime real estate season in Minnesota and since he wasn’t local, I was the one both caring for and worrying about a vacant house. It sold quickly and the closing date was looming within three weeks. I looked around at the life they had built together—the things they had used, loved, and cherished—and wondered what to do with it all. They had been in this house, their third and final home, for 34 years. It was new construction; a model home they put their stamp on by adding the screen porch and third stall garage when they purchased it.

My husband and I kept as much as we could, absorbing a patio set, a grill, Mom’s reclining loveseat and white couch, Dad’s favorite brown recliner, their bedroom set, and Dad’s much loved white truck: a 2010 Ford Sport Trac.

We also took their dog in. When Dad got sick, he was so worried what would happen to Bobbi Jo, their Shih Tzu that he and Mom rescued. I promised him that she would always have a home with us. She’s elderly, and a good and faithful dog, and our kids are thrilled to have a pet again, but housetraining is a challenge. We will persevere.

My niece and nephew came and took more things, and then we paid a local charity to clean out the rest. It was really hard to see their things disappear. Especially hard for me was to see Dad’s John Deere riding lawn mower and his tools and workshop getting cleaned out and loaded up—he had a bandsaw, radial arm saw, a drill press, and two workbenches with every gadget imaginable on them. It was his happy place, a place he built, created and fixed things.

Cleaning their vacant house was sad, and knowing I could never return there again was too. I went through each room, thinking about all that had happened in it, and blessed that space.

It is the end of an era.

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So now we have our own house sold. We are collecting boxes and will be starting to pack things up. The house we bought seven years ago and thought we’d keep for much longer, a place where the kids would return to when they visited home from college or with their own families, sold in 24 hours. I walk around my own space and wonder aloud what we’re doing and why we’re adding more chaos and stress to our lives. Am I just trying to escape the pain and grief these walls are holding in?

We are excited about the new place we purchased, but there are strong memories here. Good memories of when our children were little and all the celebrations we’ve had with family. We put a waterfall in on the hill out back during COVID and planted a tree in the front in memory of my mom. We love our sunroom and we just put a gas fireplace in our lower level this spring. I wonder what it will be like to see my own house vacant and to leave those walls behind for the last time.

The end of another era is coming.

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Taylor Swift pulled together an epic performance of all her past songs, what she had lived through and wrote about at different stages of her life. She performed for fans around the world in her Eras Tour and then made the tour into a movie for those (like me) who were interested but could not afford a concert ticket. Other than history class, it was the first time I had used or thought about the word “era.” But what a helpful way to view one’s own life—to take a panoramic view of how we are living, and realize that one era has passed and is no more but to believe another is coming.

My hope is that the new era we are moving into as a family—without my parents, without childhood toys, but with a new home, neighborhood, and school—will hold goodness, hope, and joy as we begin yet another new era together. May Christ go before us and Make Space for it all to be so.