514 S. 6th St., #7

“What do you mean there’s nothing left? There was a whole house full of stuff.” I stared at the phone in shock.

“It’s all gone. He sold it all.”

When I last stayed in the house my sister shared with him, I stayed in the front bedroom that was filled with 514. It had my grandmother’s vanity, dresser, and bed. I remember watching my grandmother sit at that vanity and apply her make up every morning as she prepared for work. Gram’s bedroom furniture followed her from 514 to her apartments and then to my parent’s house, where she spent her final few years. It was in the mid-1980s, and Mom and Dad lived in Atlanta. Then Dad accepted a job in Ridgecrest, California, and off to the desert they went. I will always remember one of my grandmother’s final requests: “Bury me not on the lone prairie.” When she passed away there, my parents brought her home to the family cemetery, five miles straight down the road from 514 on the S. 6th St. Extension.

Back to the front room at the house my sister shared with him. It was decorated with the fond memories she and I shared from summers and holidays spent at 514. In addition to Grams’s bedroom furniture, my mother’s Scarlett O’Hara doll, and the little doll carriage that Mom so cherished from her childhood, my sister had an armoire from the middle bedroom, lamps, side tables, the curio and china cabinets, tea cups, teapots, beautiful hand-made quilts, and various odds and ends.

The books from the 514 library that were housed on the shelves in the foyer and on the back porch were a part of the floor to ceiling shelves that stretched across the living room at my sister's house. 514 was filled with books, for everyone who lived there loved to read, a tradition passed on through our generation. The books captured the times in which they were written. Susan and I used to laugh about the home ec textbooks, where girls read about how to make men happy and be good wives, cooks, maids, housekeepers, mothers, and servants. It was a different world the women of 514 lived, with the "ideal" women and world documented in the old textbooks, yet never quite making it to the reality in my family, where the women were way too independent, but tried to live the "ideal."

Susan was the steward of the bulk of what was left from my mother’s family and quite a bit from my dad’s side of the family, too. She did a great job of honoring my mom and her family in this small front bedroom. When I walked into any of my sister's houses, I always felt like I was entering a museum that housed the family stories from both sides, and this one was no different. I could feel my dear ones’ presence and remember the stories and people as I looked at all the furniture, dolls, pictures, and trinkets. My grandmother sat in the chair; another one sat in the rocker. My childhood always came flooding back, feeling all the love and hugs from those who lived at 514. I climbed into bed there in Susan's front room, sitting against Grams's headboard and reading my Bible. Yes, their faith and all the hope that came with that faith was passed down to us, too.

A few years after her husband passed away, Susan sold her house and moved, along with all of the heirlooms, to our home town, where she moved in with the man who had been her best friend since junior high school. During that time, her health deteriorated, and he was her caregiver. She passed in April of 2021. He was distraught. She was his first and last love, and all his time and life in her final years were devoted to her.

Luckily, after Susan’s funeral, he sent us away with a few of her things, some small stuff that would fit into the trunk of our car, with the promise that the rest of her belongings and family heirlooms were safe in his care until her sons moved into homes with more space and could move it all at one time. It made sense, and her sons trusted him to keep his word.

Losing a loved one is so hard, and he had cared for her for years. He was grieving the sudden emptiness and expressed how he needed time with Susan’s things surrounding him, and he couldn’t bear the idea of suddenly losing Susan and then walking into empty rooms. All of us understood. It is important to give someone time to grieve, and Susan’s presence was everywhere in that home. Yes, it would be hard for him.

The day after the funeral was the last time I saw the family heirlooms. A week later, her oldest son picked up a few things that fit into his small trunk. Unbeknownst to us, less than a week after that, he put the rest up for sale. According to one of the buyers we tracked down, they went to his house and shopped for whatever they wanted to buy, paid him for it, and hauled it away. None of us knew Susan's stuff was being sold. He had promised to keep all of it for her sons, then proceeded to sell it right away.

Ten months later, he died alone in that empty house.

None of us knew he was selling her stuff or needed the money so desperately. He didn’t even offer to sell it to us first. There were no hints or offers to Susan's family, just a few "touch base" communications when we discussed how he was doing. The last time I had spoken with him was Christmas when I shared that we had named a star after my sister. He loved that idea. It was a positive conversation, and nothing seemed amiss.

His family was dealing with the same issue. In addition to losing their beloved son/brother, his parents and sister were dealing with the empty house. His sister was so compassionate for our situation, heartbroken, and graceful about it. She felt awful and apologized to all of us for what her brother had done and did her best to gather what she could. She went through his phone and helped us track down a few of the buyers. We found a few pieces from my dad’s family, but nothing from 514 could be found. Nothing. We went to the house to pick up the remnants of Susan’s writings, papers, her sons’ childhood drawings, and some linens. I picked up a bin full of papers, and there, staring at me through the clear plastic, was her brick from 514! There was a rocking chair from there, too. We are grateful to his sister for gathering her papers, writings, and trinkets left behind and working with us during all of this.

Very little of the furniture from 514 survives in our family today, numbering less than the number of fingers on two hands. The few pieces left are split up among four homes. Our son has my mother’s desk, the hall tree, the piano, and the clock on the piano, pieces I paid to have moved to my home when 514 sold. We have an armoire, the side table from the foyer, the mirror that was above it, some bedspreads/quilts, and some porcelain pieces. My brothers each have an armoire, but only one of those was from 514. My sister's son has the rocking chair that remained at his house. My dad has the secretary desk. That is all the physical stuff that remains from 514; however, the stories, spirit, and love still remain, and they are speaking up to be heard.

Family history is remembered through stories that are passed on from generation to generation, the writings (letters, diaries, and personal notes), and from the heirlooms that are left behind. My brothers probably don't have many memories about life at 514; they're much younger, but one brother compiles all the letters, diaries, and the like and shares them with all of us. Through this exercise, he probably knows our relatives better than anyone. However, the memories of my great grandmother, grandmother, aunts, and uncles only remain in two living souls, my father and myself. In order to be preserved, these must be written and located in a place where future generations can find them long after the last of us are gone. So here they sit, for those who read this to remember generations gone but not forgotten. 514 is gone, yet it still calls us.

For my readers,

Take a few moments to remember the significant memories that are important for people to know, especially if they contain experiences with newly discovered or invented items. Write these down, or record them and send them to a file to save. Also, if you have a family heirloom, write of its history and any memories associated with it. Share with your family and leave through a website where future generations can find it.