What’s Left Behind

Em Carpenter

Em was one of those argumentative children who was sarcastically encouraged to become a lawyer, so she did. She is a proud life-long West Virginian, and, paradoxically, a liberal. In addition to writing about society, politics and culture, she enjoys cooking, podcasts, reading, and pretending to be a runner. She will correct your grammar. You can find her on Twitter.

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6 Responses

  1. fillyjonk says:

    This is an evocative piece. I didn’t get to visit my grandmothers as often; they lived far away, but I especially remember my maternal grandmother’s house – we’d go there (Upper Peninsula of Michigan) for a couple weeks in August to escape the Ohio humidity. I remember her “snake room” (a joking name given to the closet under the stairs – she was deathly afraid of snakes), I remember the “front room” that everyone up there had, but no one used except for after-church or after-funeral visiting (but I was allowed to sit in there and read!). I remember her giving us pocket money to walk down to the Red Owl, which still sold “penny candy.”

    After she died, things were in turmoil – one aunt who had cared for her was suffering from cancer, the other had taken a bad fall and was suffering the after effects of a brain hemorrhage. My own parents were moving from Ohio to Illinois. We claimed a few things, a few pieces of furniture, and Aunt Chickie told us to take the tv we had given Grandma, but a lot of the things just sat in the house.

    which was then rented out. Those things disappeared. The two things I mourn not getting were her “scrap bag” (she used to let me dig in it for fabric for doll clothes and once promised it to me) and some of the old Christmas tree ornaments, but those are gone forever, and you can’t go home again.

    My own mother, now widowed, has spent her year of isolation clearing things out (mostly old financial records and stuff my dad had from teaching) and I admit it gives me a frisson that some day my brother and I will probably have to clear out HER house.

    I try to hang on to that “home is what you carry with you,” but sometimes it feels like….well, I would like a place to GO, that when I go there, they have to take me in (another definition of home that I’ve read). It’s hard being down here all alone with no connections.Report

  2. What a beautiful piece – I’m so sorry that the house is a wreck, but you’re so right that the important stuff you already have with you.Report

  3. North says:

    This was a poignant piece for me, well done. My own family (on my fathers side) hails from a small island off the coast of Nova Scotia. Generations grew up in the fishing industry which collapsed in the 80’s-90’s and has vanished for good. The families, happily, had the forsight to educate their kids so it wasn’t a great calamity but it was the end of the community. I still visit every year or so; wander among the decaying obsolete fishing infrastructure and among the mostly empty houses. The waves still wash against the shores and the whole island is virtually the same, like it was frozen in amber, just with no people. I felt similar echoes of the feelings about it that I have in your post.Report

  4. Greginak says:

    Beautiful and sad piece. Thanks.Report

  5. Laura Gadbery says:

    Beautiful piece. You were brave to even go back. I haven’t had it in me to visit the place of fond memories and leave after seeing it in the ruins I just know it’s become.Report

  6. Jaybird says:

    Oh, Em. This was a lovely essay. Thank you.Report