The house that Poor Old Grandpa built…

On Friday we slept in our new house. Or new for us anyway.

Prior to that we had been living in the house that my grandfather built.
He was an accountant. He was not a builder. But he built a house that ended up being a home for 4 generations of his family.

The house has been sold and will be demolished soon. And it was as if the house knew this fact and did its best to beat the bulldozer.

By the time we moved out 3 rooms leaked when it rained, the shower dripped constantly, the shower rail has fallen down and the toilet was unpredictable.

And now we don’t live there anymore. And it breaks my heart that the house will be knocked down. Not for any good reason other than it represents a big part of my life and that of my family.

I remember watching the movie Annie every single time I went to visit my grandparents. I remember my Grandpa making me breakfast in bed whenever I stayed there after my Gran had died. I remember the fresh flowers he had on the dining table next to several photos of her 20 years after she had died.

I will always remember my eldest sons first night in a bed there and my youngest sons first steps.

I will remember my mum calling me and telling me that my Grandpa had passed away in his sleep after having a fall in his nursing home.

It was a home that held so many memories for me and now I have to look after those memories and make some new ones.

But I’m still sad.


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