Houses In Motion
It's been almost a year since Aunt Val died.
I'm driving with my dad across the San Fernando Valley, on our way to Aunt Val's house. Though we were all promised that the house would remain in the family, it has been sold, and there are many things to be picked up and moved out. Thankfully, there has been precious little pettiness and bickering within the family about her things so far.
My dad has asked me to help him pick up a china cabinet which belonged to my grandmother, and is intended for my mother.
I wonder why he didn't ask my younger, stronger brother to help out, but I don't ask. I'm always happy when my dad asks me to do things with him, so I decide not to push my luck.
We ride mostly in silence, but not uncomfortably. I'm lost in thought, though it won't occur to me until later that this is the last time I'll make this drive. This drive that I've made since I was in a car seat. I'm thinking about what I could talk to my dad about: baseball? the kids? my family? work? We end up talking about them all, and the drive passes very quickly.
As we drive down Aunt Val's street, it hits me: this is it. I've been asked to help my dad move furniture, but I'm really here to say goodbye to this house that's been part of my life since I was a child.
A tremendous sadness washes over me as we back into the driveway.
I exchange polite hellos with Aunt Val's daughter, who is responsible for the selling of the house, and walk inside.
It's the first time I've been there since her death, and the house feels cold and empty. It's more than just the furniture being gone. It's her warmth and love that are missing.
Most of the furniture has been moved out, but certain things remain untouched: her bookcase, filled to overflowing with pictures of the family and children's artwork...some of it mine...still dominates tne side of the living room, the recliners where my great grandparents spent most of the last years of their lives opposite. I remember sitting in my Papa's chair, while Aunt Val sat next to me, watching Love Boat and Fantasy Island, thrilled that I was staying up past my bedtime, watching shows intended for grownups, putting one over on my parents who would often drop my siblings and me off for the weekend.
I loved those weekends. When we spent time with Aunt Val we were loved. We were the center of the
Universe, and though she was well into her 70s, she would play with us, walk with us to get snacks,
let us stay up late. It was wonderful.
In the living room, the table where Aunt Val would put the artificial tree at Christmas is gone, though it's footprints still mark the carpet. In my mind, I put it back, fill the space beneath it with gifts, warm the air with the laughter and love of the entire family gathered around it, singing songs and sipping cider.
I blink and the room is empty again. The warm light of memory is replaced with the harsh sunlight of
the fading afternoon. Aunt Val's dog Missy is nosing at my hand, asking to go outside.
I lead her toward the patio doors. Aunt Val's dining room table, where the adults would sit at reunions and holiday meals, is still there, covered in paperwork and trash. It's a little obscene.
When I was little, Aunt Val would always sit at the card table --the kid's table-- with us, and when I was fourteen or so I was moved to the "adult's table." The next year I begged to be granted a spot
with her at the kid's table again.
Missy is impatient. She urges me through the kitchen. I look at the cabinet where my great grandparents kept their Sugar Corn Pops cereal. Regardless of the time of day my brother and sister
and I would arrive at her house, we were always hungry for cereal, and Aunt Val was always happy to
oblige. This cabinet, which I couldn't even reach, this cabinet which held so many wonders is now empty, and at my eye level. I am sad that my own children will never get to look up at it's closed door, and proclaim themselves starving with a hunger that can only be cured by a trip to the Honeycomb hideout.
The kitchen counters are littered with dishes and glasses. Notes written in Aunt Val's handwriting still cling to the refrigerator, surrounded by my cousin Josh's schoolwork.
They say that when a house is passed over by a tornado, it can do strange things to the things inside. They say that sometimes a whole room can be destroyed, and the table will still be set, candlesticks standing, untouched by the violence of the storm. As I look at the refrigerator, unchanged in nearly a year, I wonder why some things have been left alone while others have been
completely dismantled. It's like a half-hearted attempt has been made to honor her memory.
I walk onto the patio. Missy runs after a bird, and disappears around the corner of the house, leaving me alone.
I stand on the patio, knowing that it will be for the last time. I see the backyard through the eyes of a child, a teenager, an adult, a parent. I look at Aunt Val's pool, and remember when I was so small, riding around it on a big wheel seemed to take all day. I remember playing with my cool Trash Compactor Monster in the shallow end, before I was big enough to brave the deep end and it's mysteries, known only to the Big Cousins. I remember being unable to ever successfully complete a
flip off the diving board, and reflexively rub my lower back.
I look at the slide, and the sobs which have been threatening since I walked into the house begin.
In summer of last year, I'd taken Ryan and Nolan to spend the day with Aunt Val. The three of us sat
with her on the patio, eating hot dogs she'd grilled for us, drinking punch she'd made. The kids talked eagerly with her about their plans for the rest of the summer and the upcoming school year. I watched her listen to them, the same way she'd listened to me say the same things twenty years earlier, happy that they were getting to share in her unconditional love the way I had.
We went swimming. Nolan and Ryan both doing cannonballs and flips, Aunt Val always giving them an approving, "Good for you, kiddo!" after each trick.
God, I can hear her voice as I write this.
When they grew tired of tricks, they took to the slide. They took turns for a few minutes, going head-first, on their backs, on their knees.
Ryan was sitting at the top of the slide, waiting for Nolan to get out of the landing area, when he screamed and raced into the water. I immediately knew something was wrong, and rushed to the water's edge to meet him.
I got him out, and saw that he'd been stung by a wasp.
We patched him up with baking soda and some Tylenol, and prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon inside, watching TV.
Aunt Val wouldn't hear any of that. She picked up a broom, and some Raid, and marched out to the angry nest of wasps, which we now knew was just beneath the upper edge of the slide. The wasps were pretty pissed, and beginning to swarm, and I couldn't stop my 84 year old great aunt from wiping them out, so the kids could continue to play.
I'm looking at the slide, remembering that day, remembering how scared I was that she'd get stung and would go into shock, remembering how much fun the kids had with her.
I remembered that day, and recalled a thought I had back then, watching her battle with those wasps: Aunt Val isn't going to be with us forever. Some day I'm going to stand here, and she'll be gone, and I'll cry.
So I cry. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. It's not fair that she died. It's not fair at all. I miss her. She was in perfect health one day, and the next she was gone. It's not fair, and I miss her, and I have to say goodbye to this house, and that's not fair either.
The finality of her loss takes hold, and refuses to let go. I cry until my sides hurt and my throat is dry. My cheeks are soaked, my nose is running. It's fitting that as I bid farewell to the house and person who played such an important part in my childhood, I sob like a child.
After awhile, I pull myself together, take a hard look at the backyard, run my hand along the slide, and say goodbye out loud.
I walk back into the house, and I help my dad load the china cabinet into the car. It is heavy and cuts into my hands as I lift it. I'm nervous about dropping it.
Aunt Val's daughter comes out of the house. I want to scream at her for selling off this enormous part of my childhood, but I don't. I continue tying down the cabinet, tell her goodbye, and get into the car.
We pull out of the driveway, and drive down the street for the last time.
I speak effusively with my dad on the drive home. I talk about the kids. I talk about work. I talk about the Dodgers and I ask lots of questions about when I was a kid. I want to cherish this time with him, make the most of it. I don't want to waste any of the time we have together.
When we get home with the china cabinet, my mom asks me how it was being at Aunt Val's house.
"Tough," I tell her.
She understands.
We unload the china cabinet. My dad hugs me tightly and thanks me for helping with him. I tell them
that I love them, and I drive home, alone and silent.
It's been a year since Aunt Val died.
Truth is, it could be a day, or a decade. She is gone, and I will always miss her.
Comments
My grandfather died on sunday and I am going to his funeral on thursday. I actually thought about what you wrote about the death of your Aunt yesterday. Just thought you should know.
I wrote about it here
Posted by: Jake | October 15, 2002 03:15 PM
And I cried with you.
Mugsy
Posted by: Mugsy | October 15, 2002 03:15 PM
Wil,
My dad died a year ago and I know how it feels to lose someone close to you. The hurt never quite goes away. As time passes you will feel a little better but you will and should always remember. I know I will. Always take the time to live life to the fullest and don't miss a minute of the time you have with your parents or your wife and kids. Those are the best times in the world.
Best to you and your family......
Matt......
Posted by: matt | October 15, 2002 03:20 PM
I miss my grandparents more than anything in this whole world. Every time i hear a stroy about Aunt Val i become reminiscent of a family i barely knew, and I cry.
I just want to say I think its so rare to find someone who shares there life with a world of people he hasnt met yet. Its amazing to read about your life...thanks for sharing.
Lisa Marie
Posted by: Lisa Marie | October 15, 2002 03:22 PM
Note to self: don't compose in Kwrite. It really messes with the word wrap.
Grr.
Posted by: wil | October 15, 2002 03:24 PM
I'm sorry for your loss but glad for the great memories you have. Some of us were too young when we had close relatives die and we can't remember the vivid details of the time we shared with them. Just be thankful for the time you did have together.
Posted by: MagikSpork | October 15, 2002 03:27 PM
AUTHOR: D
EMAIL:
IP:
URL: http://magikspork.livejournal.com
DATE: 10/15/2002 03:28:00 PM
AUTHOR: D
URL: http://magikspork.livejournal.com
DATE: 10/15/2002 15:28:00
Posted by: D | October 15, 2002 03:28 PM
It amazes me how being in a place can bring back emotions and memories. You capture the moment very well... you draw out the emotion... you make me feel.
Not many can do that. :) Go you. And I hope your good memories of Aunt Val never fade.
me
Posted by: Clay | October 15, 2002 03:29 PM
>Truth is, it could be a day, or a decade. She is gone, and I will always miss her
Wil, I know exactly how you feel. On friday night, my best friend of 15 years (I'm only 19, so it was most of my life) was thrown from her horse. She spent Saturday and Sunday in a coma, and then her family decided to take her off the machines on Sunday night. The doctors said she had really been gone since friday. Its hard, someone will say something, even something that isn't sad or anything, but I'm reminded of a time I spent with her.
Anyhow, I just wanted to thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. Its hard to put feelings like this into words, but its nice to know that someone understands, even when the words don't come out properly.
Posted by: Zani | October 15, 2002 03:30 PM
i've never lost anyone that close to me, so all i can say is i'm sorry.
Posted by: sarah qadri | October 15, 2002 03:31 PM
come on wil, it's not cool to make people cry at work. But thank you again for opening up your life to us.
Posted by: indigo | October 15, 2002 03:33 PM
Oh Wil,
I'm sitting in front of my computer right now, tears streaming down my face. Thank you for sharing this with us. It's clear that your Aunt Val was a special part of your life, and that your cherished your time with her. Simply from reading this, I can feel how much you loved her, and am reminded how important it is to cherish every day you have with someone.
Thank you.
Jennifer
Posted by: Athena | October 15, 2002 03:35 PM
I'm crying too; I have felt like you do.
I can tell you that are lucky.
It's horroble to lose someone so cool, and the finality is stunning, but incredible gratitude will fill you again and again because of the wonderful way she was a part of your life.
Thank you for the way you write.
It's very real.
Posted by: Adrienne | October 15, 2002 03:36 PM
Will,
Having just read your posting, memories of my grandfather come flooding back into my heart. I was lucky, the last time I spoke to him I made sure he knew how much I loved him, but I didn't know that it would be the last time I would talk to him. I did't really allow myself to grieve right away but eventually I came to terms with the loss. I still miss him very much, but I have many wonderful memories of him which help ease the hurt a little. Thank you for sharing with all of us.
JP
Posted by: Jon-Paul | October 15, 2002 03:41 PM
> Note to self: don't compose in Kwrite. It really
> messes with the word wrap
Geez, dude! You post something like that and worry about WORD WRAP???
Very, very evocative. My sympathy for your loss, and for the losses that we all have suffered over the years. In a way, you've summed them all up for us all with this one entry.
Posted by: MrsVeteran | October 15, 2002 03:48 PM
Those wasps didn't know they were messing with --
(dramatic pause, add ECHO to narrator)
-- AUNT VAL.
(heh. /ECHO)
Laughed out loud at the demise of the wasps. Gotta love Aunt Val's feisty self. I've a number of elderly relatives, Grandparents, Great-great uncles and aunts, who are getting pretty close to the Time. I sure hope that my cousins and their kids can hear about the things Grandma and Grandpa got up to in their day, and I hope we can keep that house, home of so many Thanksgivings and Christmasses, too.
It's good of you to go easy on Aunt Val's daughter. I'm sure things are not kosher in her mind either, but she's facing the reality of all the lagal stuff that happens with an estate, and she probably doesn't have a lot of choices.
No one is ever gone when people who love them remember them and miss them. such is life.
Take care.
Posted by: Drakensykh | October 15, 2002 03:50 PM
I lost my grandpa in '93, he was the only grandparent I ever knew. His memory is with me every day, all the things we did together, the places we went, the things we talked about, that at the time were so inconsequential but now mean the world to me. The good memories are what tempers the loss. I don't think time heals ALL wounds, but it does prove we can survive. My best to you and your Family Wil.
Posted by: Indigolady | October 15, 2002 03:54 PM
damn you wil wheaton! :::shakes fist::: you almost made me cry :) every time i come and read a story like that, i know you are a brilliant writer. don't let anyone ever tell you different.
i sometimes sit around and get depressed about how the past is gone; but then i realize that i should be sitting around and thinking about how the people around me now are so great. remember that and show your boys how great childhood can be.
p.s. i was wondering what happened; your site is one of the very few that looks right in my crappy resolution lol
Posted by: h | October 15, 2002 03:54 PM
You should ask John Edward (Crossing Over) for a reading. Several celebrities have done it and I always feel better about life and death after watching his show.
Something to think about.
Posted by: James A. Bush | October 15, 2002 03:55 PM
I don't know how you do it Wil, but you can convey emotions, just in your words better than most people can do in person. Hearing you describe your aunt's house reminded me of my second cousins. I could picture myself there in a few years, saying goodbye to my childhood and to her. Missing the feeling of coolness that I got to hang out with all of the big kids playing pool, Sega, and horseshoes. I understand Wil.
Posted by: Matt | October 15, 2002 04:00 PM
No one is truly gone who is remembered.
Love is the only immortality avialable to us, so I imagine your Aunt Val is smiling down from heaven, thanking you for making her immortal.
Bravo.
Posted by: dake | October 15, 2002 04:05 PM
I dread going back east and seeing the hollowed out shell of my Nana's house. She passed away this past spring, and she lives -- er, liveD (see, I keep doing that) -- on the other side of the continent from me. Seeing that empty house will make it all too real.
Thank you so much for this entry. It's very touching.
Posted by: sandra | October 15, 2002 04:05 PM
Hey Wil,
I've posted before, but this is different. Your words and reflection are very deep and thought provoking. My condolences, but I'm very glad to hear that you have such vivid memories - and that you decided to share them. Thanks.
You know, I always ask people that if I were gone tomorrow, how would you remember me? What's the worst thing about me that you could say? Truth is, most people couldn't care less about how they'll be remembered. I most certainly do care and I do my very best to live my life well because I want to leave those I love with good memories.
In "Houses in Motion" you gave your fans insight to a person who is still dealing with the loss of a loved one. As a fan, I think that's very cool. While I'm a fan of Wil Wheaton the actor, through your writings I've become a fan of Wil Wheaton a very genuine and caring person. Thanks for that insight, Wil.
You know, it's funny: I was always a big Wesley fan because I thought as a person he was written to show depth and sensitivity. It's nice to know that no matter how you might recall yourself as a teen, there was undoubtedly a lot of Wil Wheaton in Wesley Crusher.
Your fan,
Jerry (Norbie) Fiore
Posted by: Norbie | October 15, 2002 04:18 PM
Oh, one more thought - and from a TNG episode, no less!
"No goodbyes, just good memories."
Posted by: Norbie | October 15, 2002 04:20 PM
As I sit here and cry with you, I'm reminded of when I had to do the same thing you did, going through the house and removing things that needed to be distributed for my grandmother, and how I hated that the house was sold and I would have done anything to keep it for myself. But I was only 11 and had to watch as everything I loved in that house was taken away. At least your kids got to meet your Aunt Val, mine will never meet my grandmother.
Posted by: Christy | October 15, 2002 04:22 PM
i can't believe it's been a year that she's been gone. it seems like just a short time ago that you posted your beautiful tribute to her.
this moved me to tears, wil. that rarely happens.
Posted by: brandee | October 15, 2002 04:27 PM
Wil, once again i realize how thought provoking some of your entries can be. I've only been a regular reader on your site for a few months and entries like this simply amaze me. Even after a year i can see plainly that the wound is still raw and the hurt fresh. My heartfelt condolences to you and your family. I love reading things like this because its helping all of us, your fans, to get to know you on a more personal level. Keep up the good work! Brook
Posted by: Brook | October 15, 2002 04:33 PM
that was beautiful.... im crying here... god wil... you have a way with words... never stop writing....
Posted by: jett | October 15, 2002 04:46 PM
That's a really good entry Wil, best one I've had the pleasure of reading. Thanks.
--=--
Alex.
Posted by: Alex | October 15, 2002 04:55 PM
Wil,
Thank you for sharing this with us. It has been just a little over a year since my dearest grandfather passed away. I feel much the same way about him that you do about Aunt Val. Many hugs for you and your family.
Danielle
Posted by: ezzvaldez | October 15, 2002 04:58 PM
How rich you are. Memories are like cherished gold. I am a bit envyious. I wish I could have had more of a chance to know my grandpa. But I am glad for the time I did get with him. It is kinda fustrating that I only knew him from a childs perspective.
Posted by: Artisticspirit | October 15, 2002 05:03 PM
Wil, when you write these sad stories it always brings a tear to my eye.
Posted by: Hal97 | October 15, 2002 05:23 PM
I'm sitting here in with tissue in hand. You really touched me today, Wil. I cried for your loss and cried about my own. I'll never forget walking back inside Grandma's house 6 months later and feeling so empty. I'd give anything to be able to sit with her and just get to know her better. I didn't realize until she was gone that I had never once sat with her and asked her what it was like when she was growing up. What were her dreams. What was my dad like as a kid. It took the loss of her to make me realize how much I had alienated myself from my family because of my silly shyness. I always say 'I love you' now. But will feel forever guilty about the one who never knew.
Posted by: Kansas kid | October 15, 2002 05:29 PM
Wil
What a wonderful tribute you have done for your Aunt Val.Is it too late for you to put this in your new book? It would be the lasting tribute to you Aunt.
Posted by: Cathy | October 15, 2002 05:43 PM
It's so great to have such touching memories of someone so loving. Gone but not forgotten.
Thanks for sharing that, Wil. :]
Posted by: galestorm | October 15, 2002 05:46 PM
of all the things about the death of a loved one...the closing down of the household is the hardest for me...knowing it'll never be grandma and grandpa's house ever again...and even though i knew since they died it could not be the same...the child in me wanted to freeze the moment and hold fast to the way things were.
Posted by: d. burr | October 15, 2002 05:52 PM
I love this entry.
Posted by: Miel | October 15, 2002 05:52 PM
Wil,
You constantly amaze me with your sensitive and evocative writing. As others have commented you're an amazing person for sharing yourself the way you do with complete strangers like us. In just two short months you've totally turned around my opinion of you to the point I tell everyone I think will understand to go read your website. I'm well and truly hooked!
Your Aunt Val sounds very like my maternal Grandmother, the matriarch of our clan. She passed away 6 years ago and reading your words today evoced some strong memories. Somehow it feels better to know that other people feel the same way.
Posted by: Hyperion4001 | October 15, 2002 05:54 PM
Drakensykh said 'No one is ever gone when people who love them remember them and miss them. such is life.'
Too true. The pain never completely goes away - but it does lessen. Soon, you can think of them doing something funny or stupid, and you can smile or laugh. But the first little while is hard. Perhaps the hardest thing I ever had to go through. I lost my most beloved ones 10 and 9 years ago respectively. You might think after all this time it would be in the back of my mind, not the front. But something will happen to take me back, and I will remember their faces, the things we did together....and the fierce grief. Thanks for the post, Wil. When's that book coming out?
T
Posted by: Tiana | October 15, 2002 05:54 PM
I'm dreading that day. My Grandfather passed away a month ago, and now the house on the lake where I spent many days of my childhood will soon be sold.
Posted by: Dan | October 15, 2002 06:19 PM
Will,
I have been reading your web sight for a few months now, and I have to say that you are at your best when you are sharing about you family. The other day with your step son made me smile, and today the story of your aunt Val made me cry. I didn't have an aunt Val in my life, but I did have two parents who remind me of her and they too are gone. I live miles away from where I grew up, but every time I go home to the that city, I will come across something or place that brings up those same types of emotions, and they are with me again if only for that short time. Thank you for sharing and I hope to read allot more for years to come.
Best Wishes and God Bless
Posted by: Rick | October 15, 2002 06:21 PM
From your comments last year and this year about your Aunt, it sounds even more like your Aunt and my Great Grandmother were birds of a feather. I miss her yes, but get to remember and laugh when I think of the life she shared with me. She passed away years ago and was 98 years old. She is always with me in my thoughts and heart.
Sounds like your Aunt is in yours.
Peace.
Posted by: Boots Malloy | October 15, 2002 06:23 PM
Perhaps the most beautiful tribute and rememberance I have ever
read.
Thanks Wil
Posted by: Colleen Scott | October 15, 2002 06:25 PM
That was beautiful. I can definitely relate. Reading that brought back a lot of memories of my childhood.
I can't wait to read your book, your writing style is so flowing, easy to read, and very emotive. Very compelling.
Posted by: buntz | October 15, 2002 06:36 PM
On Death and Dying:
Wil, my dad left us back in '97 (is it really five years already?). That night I wrote a few words in his honour and posted it. It still brings tears to my mother's eyes when she reads it. It's not much to look at --
http://www.en.cl/robert.htm
-- but you can look at it too, if you want.
(remember to right click to get out of this window)
Posted by: rust | October 15, 2002 06:47 PM
Okay, I cried as well. Brings up old sorrow...my uncle who died three weeks ago, our pet cat of 16 years who passed away just two weeks ago...all the others.
Oh, and when you said DODGERs, Wil, you did mean ANGELs...didn't you???
Posted by: Ivy | October 15, 2002 06:53 PM
To me, the sadness that is felt at the loss of a loved one is the reflection of the joy and happiness felt when they were alive....like you and your Aunt Val..
My brother and I became orphaned when I was 22. (having lost my grandfather at 14, mom at 16, grandmother at 18 and dad at 22). The most difficult days of my life, really. There wasn't enough tears or booze to cope with my sorrow.
We inherited my grandfathers house and property that 3 generations had lived in. There was a weird mixture of joy and sorrow attached to the place. We kept it for a few years, then my brother needed money and I couldn't buy him out and we had to sell it. I remember the heartache I felt, parting with what I saw as our family legacy. I felt I was loosing everyone again and that I was such a jerk and a failure for not finding a way to keep it.
Part of the property remains as it was when my grandfather could work in the garden. Part of the property has this monstrous house where my grandfather's rose gardens were, where my brother and I played army, where we used to swim in the lake. It's kind of obscene in a weird sort of way. I still have some sorrow about the place and the loved ones long gone and still have dreams about it, years later.
I have lost over 30 friends and relatives over the years including my best friend's suicide 9 years ago. To me, it is an honor that I can still cry and miss him, my parents, and the others. There is more dignity in this than the silly notion of "closure" (which really means "Aren't you over this yet?").
To me, it is now better to celebrate the lives of the people who are gone, rather than greive their demise. I have adopted All Souls Day (the Day of the Dead) as the day to do just that. It's coming up on Nov. 2 and this year maybe I'll take all my memories and keepsakes and go ride a roller coaster.....
Bernie
Posted by: bernie | October 15, 2002 07:40 PM
The message here;
Enjoy those special people in our lives while they are here.
Cherish the memories later and keep the dream alive.
Posted by: Keith in Montana | October 15, 2002 07:44 PM
Wil.
I went through the same thing as you. I know how you feel. My grandfather died a few years back, but my grandmother decided she was going to stay alone in the big house. After awhile, She got sick, so we had to move her into a nursing home, where she could be looked after 24/7. The day I found out we were selling her house, I felt like someone had taken a piece of my heart.. All the memories in their house.. The stories, the games of checkers with my papa..
Jesus, I can't believe im starting to cry..
Excitedly showing them my new train set, and what it can do... Now its gone.. Even the memories, are starting to fade.. I know it was just a house.. But so many wonderful things happend there.. im sad its gone, just as you are sad that your aunts house is gone now..
Always remember the good times.
- Rob.
Posted by: Robbie Symington | October 15, 2002 07:48 PM
That's one of your most powerful, honest and heartfelt posts, Wil. As is evident from the above comments, you touched a lot of people who recall similar memories of their loved ones, not the least of which being me.
My grandmother died on Christmas Eve, 1997. It's a memorable, fitting date in that we'd always celebrated Christmas at her house then. Like you, I soon had to say goodbye to a house chock full of childhood memories. It's a painful transition, but old memories inspire new ones.
Posted by: Mike | October 15, 2002 07:50 PM
Wil,
Why worry about acting when you can write like this? Keep it up!
Posted by: Lawrence | October 15, 2002 07:54 PM
Wow.
Thanks, Wil.
I had all these things to say, and well, I don't know how to anymore.
Posted by: Sally | October 15, 2002 08:32 PM
I lost my grandparents in the last 2 years.
Thank you for writing that and sharing it...
Posted by: Sihaya | October 15, 2002 08:56 PM
DUDE...
Posted by: Brad Kimberly | October 15, 2002 09:00 PM
just when I think it's safe to read...you come up with another stirring story for us to cry over. Thank you Wil.
Posted by: Jennifer | October 15, 2002 09:05 PM
Wil.
It's not fair to make grown men cry.
Posted by: Sean | October 15, 2002 09:09 PM
A very touching tribute to a special family member. As I read it I was reminded of what I wrote in tribute to my "adopted" grandfather who passed away this past July. I am so thankful that I was able to sit at his bedside the night before he died and say all the things I needed to.
http://www.geocities.com/miesl_dru/GeorgeAugustHanson.doc
Life is what it is, and it is not always fair or right... nor does it make sense. All we can do is cherish the memories of those we lose, and treasure the time we have with those still with us.
Posted by: Michelle | October 15, 2002 09:12 PM
Lovely as always, Wil. But you know, it really IS fair. Death is just a part of life, and it sounds like your Aunt Val was more blessed than most. She certainly was blessed with a caring great nephew. If we all just went on and on, the true experiences of life wouldn't be as precious. It's the very fact that we all are part of a cycle that makes us happy when someone is born and sad when someone dies. Her part of the cycle was done, and even though she's gone, the memory of her love creates a ripple in your own life and how you think about those you love who are still with you. And the cycle goes on.
Posted by: Topeka Lee | October 15, 2002 09:46 PM
Wil:
Thanks. My father has passed away 10 years ago, my mother 8. Oddly, today, I was discussing the days my parents died with a friend at work, then I come home to this. I cried as I read this. So many memories come back as the holidays approach. Be assured that over time the memories will become a great comfort to you. They are how Aunt Val will live on.
Tom Backus
Posted by: Tom Backus | October 15, 2002 09:52 PM
How strange? I have not cried about anything in a long time. What you wrote about your aunt made me cry. You and your family will be fine. Also you are a very good writer. You write about what you know and you certainly capture the essence of what you know. Love ya lots.
Posted by: Mike | October 15, 2002 10:03 PM
absolutely beautiful and so sad, wil. god bless you for sharing this with us.
Posted by: marc | October 15, 2002 10:10 PM
Dammit Wheaton - ya made me cry!
Now I have to explain to my wife why I was crying at the computer. Not the easiest thing to do.
Posted by: omegageek | October 15, 2002 10:22 PM
Wil-
I lost my father almost 9 years ago in a tragic car accident. I must say that what you just wrote brought tears to my eyes, simply because I felt the same exact way many times over the years. Death is never easy to deal with, but I am glad you have your family to lean on. Without my mom and brother, I don't know if I would be as strong as I am now, or if I would be around at all. Your writing is so powerful, keep at it.
Posted by: brendoman | October 15, 2002 10:24 PM
How is it you became an actor and not a writer?
It is good.
Posted by: Sue | October 15, 2002 10:44 PM
!+´d!«´?ust want to tell you that you are a wonderful writer, and thank you for sharing those personal memories about your Aunt. Words alone can't express how much it hurts to lose someone you love, but you've done as close to perfect as humanly possible,
Posted by: Sarah | October 15, 2002 11:08 PM
It's amazing how powerful the written word is but even more powerful when espressed as eloquently as you have. It's always diffiucult for me to write about losing my father to cancer. It takes an enormous amount of courage to share those very private thoughts of grief. Thank you so much for having the courage and heart to share with us.
Posted by: frances | October 15, 2002 11:09 PM
http://www.bohra.net/archive/gibran/gibran27.html
Posted by: erika | October 15, 2002 11:14 PM
Now I miss Aunt Val :'(
Posted by: belinda | October 15, 2002 11:38 PM
I really needed a good cry, thank-you. You've brought up in amazingly vivid detail what most people feel when they lose someone close to them. I've had those moments, when you realize that someone isn't going to be there forever, and then they're gone.
Cherish every moment you have with the people you love.
Posted by: DeeDee | October 16, 2002 12:02 AM
Thanks for a nice cathartic cry. I lost my mom about 3 weeks ago. I'm still trying to sort it out.
The reason we all root for you, Wil, is because you're a Real People. Thanks for being on the planet. And making the things that suck, suck a whole lot less.
Posted by: cosmiquemuffin | October 16, 2002 12:02 AM
Will,
Thanks so much for sharing your life with us, your talented writing, sensitivity and wisdom never ceases to amaze me. Your ability to touch your readers with your words and inner thoughts is truly a gift that so many of us truly appreciate.
Posted by: Dawn | October 16, 2002 12:10 AM
Wil,
Three years ago today, I lost my father. It was the worst time of my life I was 41 at the time and was turned back into a 14 year old. He lived in the house where he died for only 2 years. It was supposed to be his retirement palace. When I dream about him, it usualy takes place in the house where I grew up. They say the dearly departed return to us in our dreams. They comfort us and let us know THEY are alright and they still love us. That drive to pick up the china closet wasn't the last trip you made to your Aunt Val's house. You'll visit her there in your dreams, where she'll remind you how much she loves you...and you'll feel good about it.
Take care,
Bart
Posted by: Bart Manzella | October 16, 2002 12:21 AM
My Nan died two years ago this week, and I think of her every day. I can remember being so excited to spend summers at my Nan's house, sleeping in the front bedroom, in the big bed. And we got the Quaker instant oatmeal for breakfast (the kind with the cool animal facts on the pouch!). Then we would take the bus downtown to explore. Nan gave unconditional love, and I was blessed to have her in my life for 32yrs.
Posted by: Dee | October 16, 2002 01:15 AM
Wil , you wrote so beautifully , the most evocative prose ...I felt like I was there
Posted by: Melody | October 16, 2002 01:36 AM
Today I was filling out one of those "get to know your friends" email forwarding things. The ones where you answer questions about yourself that are supposed to tell your friends stuff about you. One of the questions was what celebrity would you want to have lunch with? My answer was Wil Wheaton(you've knocked Bruce Willis out of the top spot! No mean feat!)
This is a very good illustration of why.
You are a tremendously evocative writer, sensitive, funny, and very very cool.
I understood instantly what you were saying about a place being part of a person. My grandmother over a decade ago and I still miss her. Sometimes when I get "homesick" I miss her house in Arizona, where we spent most of our early childhood and several summers. I remember that enclosed back porch searching for her pet turtles, amidst a jungle of houseplants. I remember the oasis of her backyard, under the big trees, surrounded with flowerbeds. I remember lounging with my sister under the lemon tree which Grandma would take fresh lemons from and use the leaves to make tea. I remember playing under the orange and pomogranate trees in the middle of the yard, and sitting under them in the shade eating fresh pomogranates with Grandma and my little sister. Later when my next sister came along we moved here to Texas and when we went back to Grandma's house, She was still the same and those wonderful trees and turtles were still there. In my heart they are there still and every time I think of Grandma and Grandpa, they are alive and they know that I am thinking of them and loving them.
Aunt Val knows that you are thinking of her and loving her too and you will see her again, as fiesty as ever!
Love and Light.
Posted by: AngeGypsy | October 16, 2002 02:01 AM
Wil,
What a touching tribute this was to your Aunt Val. I'm sure that she was there with you while you wrote it, and is there with you still, watching over you and yours. She sounds like she must have been one heck of a lady! I'm sure that she is incredibly proud to have a great grandson of your character and strength. Keep up the writing, you are amazing at putting feelings to words!
Take care! Terry
Posted by: Terry | October 16, 2002 02:07 AM
Very moving Wil.
Thank you for sharing that with us.
Later,
Dev.
Posted by: Dev | October 16, 2002 02:43 AM
Touching... it made me feel it to my own psyche, and reminded me of my own aunt which I miss her a lot.
Posted by: Panagiotis | October 16, 2002 04:19 AM
Y'know, I get my make-up all nice and neat looking, and then I read this and my mascara's running down my face. Thank, Wil...
You really have a way with words. Thank you for sharing yourself with all of us. You have a way of expressing feelings for all of us. You are very lucky to have had Aunt Val in your life, and I'm sure she knows how much you love her.
I was telling my mom last night all about your website. Was I telling her what a great actor I think you are? Nope (although I think you are)- I was telling her what a great writer I think you are. I can't wait until your book comes out, Wil. And I would really love for you to come to good old New Joisey so I would have the pleasure of seeing you, and maybe even shaking your hand.
Love, Alicia
www.thewagband.com
Posted by: Alicia | October 16, 2002 05:06 AM
Darn.
I'm not supposed to cry, it's not right.
{{hug}}
Shouldn't do that either, huh ;)
Posted by: Alan | October 16, 2002 05:24 AM
My grandma had to be moved out of her house thia spring, now my aunt is desparate to get me there to go through her things. I have been resisting.
And now I know why. Your writing opened my mind to the sadness that I have been avoiding.
Thanks for helping me understand my own life better.
Keep this up.
Robin
Posted by: Robin Grant | October 16, 2002 05:26 AM
Will,
I'm sorry to hear about your Aunt Val and truly feel for you. Thank you very much for this intimate peak into your life. You're an excellent and compelling writer and have a beautiful soul. Thank you again.
Mike Jones
P.S. I agree, it's not fair to make someone cry at work!
Posted by: Mike Jones | October 16, 2002 06:19 AM
I am crying along with everyone else. Wonderful writing and touching memories...
Posted by: Mackenzie | October 16, 2002 06:35 AM
My siblings and I were never really that close to our Dad, we never did anything together. Then Mum and Dad got separated and so we hardly ever saw him. He died in March last year and sometimes I wish things could have been a bit different. The times that we had when we were little kids weren't all that bad, but things just kept getting worse. But now that I think about it, I kinda miss him.
That was very touching, Wil. I cried too.
Posted by: Nadia | October 16, 2002 06:48 AM
Thanks for this, Wil. My mother died in 1994. In 1996 I got married, and later that year had my first child. The next year my wife and I bought a house. We took some of the furniture out of my mother's house, as well as some things with purely sentimental value.
I lived in that house off and on for 20 years. Now strangers live there. I don't think about it much, but it's hard when I do.
Posted by: Graham Powell | October 16, 2002 06:56 AM
Wil,
Dammit, you made me cry at work again. The first time was the story about you and the kids playing.
This reminded me of when we had to clean out my Grandmother's house. My sister, a few cousins & I were there to claim what we wanted before the rest and the house were to be sold/donated.
My parents and aunts & uncles had already gone through it.
I did, surprisingly, get the one thing that meant the most to me: the grandfather clock. Now it sits in my apartment. I keep it wound and running. Every time it chimes I think of when I was a kid at my grandparents' house and how much I love them and miss them.
Peace,
Billman
Posted by: Billman | October 16, 2002 07:35 AM
Thank you Wil.
One of my earliest memories is of helping clear out my grandma's house, when I was about 4. I still have happy memories of that big and exciting place, even all these years later. Strange that I can remember the house so clearly, but I have only the dimmest memories of its owner.
And remember every time you do something cool with the kids, a little part of Aunt Val lives on through you. :)
Posted by: NickW | October 16, 2002 07:50 AM
You've braved that much more admirably than I did. My grandfather died almost 4 years ago now. Battling disease that he inevitably beat by taking his own life.
He was my Aunt Val, the man that more than anyone in this world, that i could talk to.
Thank you for sharing your life, both good and bad, with us.
Posted by: Tim | October 16, 2002 08:03 AM
I have to go to a funeral this weekend for my best friend's mother. The wake was a couple of weeks ago, and I drove around the town I grew up in, feeling like a complete ghost.
Your words today really. . . . helped. I think I'm ready to go to that funeral and say good-bye to someone who was always a quiet strength in my world.
Posted by: Stephanie | October 16, 2002 08:11 AM
This brought back a bunch of memories for me - my Grandmother's house in Tacoma was the same for me what your Great-Aunt's place was for you. I drove back several years later to her place. She kept it up, white place with pink trim. The fact that a crack house was two doors down seemed inconsequential to us. Now the place has gone to seed, hasn't been painted since a few years before she died.
I miss her, too. It's been 12 years.
Posted by: Tim | October 16, 2002 08:13 AM
Wil..you ARE the writer.
Some of you know that my friend and CEO of the company I work for died 2 weeks ago..I have been here 12 years and he was so close he was family.
I am still crying every day..and this entry did
not help in that aspect..however it did make me
realize how powerful a writer you have become.
Thank you for sharing Aunt Val with us.
Posted by: bluecat/redblanket | October 16, 2002 08:14 AM
I remember reading your first entry and the scent of the candle that lingered through the room...
Posted by: ze-mag | October 16, 2002 08:19 AM
Wil,
To be able to express what you did....it takes not only talent as a writer, it takes love, compassion, and a courage that not many people have. While reading this I remembered visiting my grandparents as a child, christmas eve and rasin pudding by the fire. We even had the same little table that the kids had to eat at. I want to thank you for this Wil. I never had the chance to do that with my grandparents house, but I feel that through you I did. I saw myself going through the old house, seeing it the way it was, the way I remember it. Again, thank you Wil for giving me the opportunity I never had.
Posted by: Ryan_W | October 16, 2002 09:17 AM
That's one of the hardest things about getting older is seeing the previous generation move on. When you're little, if you're lucky to have a good family, there is a security is having the Grown-Ups deal with everything. Then, when you're in the middle, you get the best of both worlds -- you get to be the Grown-Up for the younger ones, and still have the security of not being in that authoritative group of Elder Relatives who seem to be the matriarchs and patriarchs of the family.
Then, they die, and all of a sudden you have to be in that role and gawd's sake, I can't be in that role! I don't know what the hell I'm doing!
That's when it hits you that your elder relatives were no different from you, and that's when you really really really start to clue into them. It's one of the ugliest ironies of life that this happens after they're gone. :-P
Posted by: Janis | October 16, 2002 09:52 AM
I see you have touched a common chord in human essence... the loss of a loved one hits all people, regardless of status, race, sex, etc.
Thank you for sharing a very well written vignett of your life.
Posted by: Amber | October 16, 2002 10:10 AM
A loving tribute indeed, and an inspiration as well. I have no children of my own, but I have several young nieces and nephews whom I adore. As they grow older, I will invite them to spend as much time as they like at my home, free to do as they please when they please, and receive my undivided attention and unconditional love. Each one will feel like the favorite.
Posted by: Mia | October 16, 2002 10:46 AM
i know i am echoing many others when i thank you for what you wrote yesterday.
my grandmother is very close to the end, and as my family gathers around her for the few days or weeks we have left to share with her, i know that many of the things you wrote will come to pass for us.
her house, the center of my roving childhood, will be sold. her posessions will be parcelled out among the family, so many bits of her life scattered among us. my mother and i, the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter, will likely bear most of the work in cleaning, sorting, and moving. the memories will flood back, ghosts hanging in corners and flitting through halls. they already do.
i visit her as often as i can, and even though she now sits in her armchair, often too weak to rise without assistance or talk for too long without tiring, i see her as she was. making family dinners, working on her calligraphy, designing my wedding invitations.
she is a loving, wonderful, formidable woman. i dread the day that i will have to say that in the past tense.
Posted by: jenny | October 16, 2002 10:59 AM
Wow this entry made me cry...it reminded me of my Grandmother that died when I was 10. You write so eloquently.
Posted by: Lloyd | October 16, 2002 11:20 AM
Great story, wil. So where's the book? And thanks for making me focus for a few on those relationships that mean so much to us while we were growing up.
Posted by: Steve | October 16, 2002 11:37 AM
This is the "stuff" I so enjoy you writing about, Wil, more so than your political "rantings". We all get enough of that day-to-day. It's personal things in each of our lives that, I believe, touch us so much stronger.
Take care,
Posted by: Mark | October 16, 2002 11:41 AM
Wil, I'm at work reading your post at lunch. I saw "Aunt Val" in the first sentence and I thought "Uh oh, I better not read this now, I know I'm going to get teary." But I couldn't help myself. And I did get teary. It's nice Aunt Val has a nephew who can tell the world what a loving person she was. Now we all have another memory of her.
Makes me wish I had an Aunt Val. How wonderful to have had someone in your life like that. And it's lovely that your memories of her are so clear. That's a precious thing.
Posted by: loretta652 | October 16, 2002 11:45 AM
Today is the 16th of October and I just finally read your story from yesterday...I am celebrating my daughters 4th birthday...HAPPY BIRTHDAY Alexis! I am in tears though..I wish my grandmother(MEMAW) was here to see her.I miss her she reminds me of your Aunt Val...a fighter..a great woman..The greatest memory I will ever have..Thank you Wil...your stories are tremendous!
Posted by: Candace | October 16, 2002 11:45 AM
Thanks, Will, for writing that. My Dad died one year and two months (and thirteen days) ago, and it's still amazing how patiently the tears still wait for moments like this.
A day, a year, a decade. I get it. Costs too damned much, but I get it.
You are a better man every time I come through this site.
Posted by: Jonathan | October 16, 2002 11:51 AM
Wil,
Thank you for sharing memories of your Aunt Val. She sounded like an amazing woman. Your reflections brought back times from my childhood with my grandparents. It was a wonderful place in my past to visit and I thank you for helping me take that journey.
Ness
Posted by: Ness | October 16, 2002 11:52 AM
Wil, incredible story man, brought a tear to my eye. Take care.
Posted by: KBF_Dank | October 16, 2002 11:54 AM
Ahh damn it, you made me cry at work ...
Thanks:)
Etienne
http://www.gamegoof.com/
Posted by: Etienne | October 16, 2002 11:58 AM
I believe the "dead" aren't really dead at all. Things happen that are beyond coincidence - whether it be a light flickering at the precise time you're thinking about a passed loved one, or a song that was played at their funeral suddenly blasting through the supermarket PA system. I'm quite confident that your Aunt Val is looking down on you - watching over you, protecting you. So when you think of her as gone, remember, she's still there. Her "love and warmth" are not gone, just transformed.
And if you don't believe me, call John Edwards. ;)
Posted by: Matrix | October 16, 2002 12:37 PM
My mom is Italian and my Nonna (grandma) died quite suddenly this summer. My grandpa passed the year before and so my parents had to make a quick trip over to settle the estate. I wish that we did not live half the world away in the states and I wish that my Mom could have taken everything she wanted with her. However, shipping from Europe to the US is expensive and my parents have three kids in college. My Mom wanted to save everything, old toys, reciepts, TOOTHPICK holders...At first I thought she was crazy, especially if you saw the menagerie of stuff in the house. I can't imagine only being able to take the most precious items from a house that holds over 60 years of memories.
Posted by: Elena | October 16, 2002 01:02 PM
Aw, heck.
:`(
WWDN is the only website that makes me shed a tear on a fairly regular basis. Thank you.
Posted by: NickW | October 16, 2002 01:28 PM
Wil,
I must say it was hard to read your story. I am still crying as I am writing this. I lost my grandma on my mom's side 2 years ago. I was very close to her, she helped raise me and everything. I was over at her house all the time. I miss her so much. Then I lost my grandma on my dad's side in March of this year. It's not fair but I guess we all have to go through this type of thing sometime. My 2 grandpas are still here but I dread the day that I will have to go to their houses and get stuff just as you had. They say time helps to ease the pain, which is true it does somewhat,but its still there and I think it will always be. Reading this today has reminded me not to take the rest of my family for granted, they will not always be there. Wil, thanks for sharing this.
Posted by: Michelle | October 16, 2002 01:45 PM
Wil that was a really sweet, sad, touching story. that reminds me of how i felt this summer when my Grandmother moved. This summer she moved to one of those asisted care apartments. not that she needed to move there. The closing for her house was about two weeks ago. I can still visit her and everything but before the house closed it felt so empty inside. I can remember all the things i used to do there when i was younger. I would sit on my grandfathers (who i never met) chair and sketch pictures. I also remember i used to garden in her back yard and eat dove bars and make mud pies and bake lace cookies on christmas. I dont think she is ever gonna bake again and I will really miss her cakes and homemade chocolate chip cookies. I had a whole room upstairs with all y stuffed animals and toys and my Stand by me poster on the wall. I always watched Stand by me and a Christmas story at her house. I really miss that house.
Posted by: Maureen | October 16, 2002 01:50 PM