relatively privileged sadposting, hidden for easier skipping and prevention of nonconsensual dumping
sadposting
Let’s start by saying she died a little over 20 years ago, so it’s not an open wound, but it rekt my extended family, so definitely a vicious scar.
I had two much older sisters who were close in age and a “little” brother who is a smidgen younger than me but has been bigger than me since kindergarten.
When I was around 10, one of my sisters and her husband picked out a little piece of land, bought a log cabin kit, and built their home themselves. I remember playing with Tonka trucks with my brother and nephew in the area where the basement was poured and walking through the interior walls when they were just studs. Because my sister was obsessed with holidays and having everyone together and making everything Martha Stewart perfect, every family gathering happened in that house – from the time it was finished enough to host everyone, until her wake.
I lived out of state when she died suddenly, so I dropped everything, moved back, and lived with her husband and kids for a few weeks to help. I had cats and their dogs wanted to eat them, so I got an apartment a couple towns over, and my mom took over helping my sister’s widower with the kids.
I have barely been back to my sister’s cabin in the 20+ years since. It had been the site of all family holiday celebrations, but after my sister died, my mom hosted those at her house instead. I got into a huge verbal altercation* (that almost became physical) with my remaining sister at Christmas a couple years later, so I stopped going to family gatherings.
I have barely seen my brother-in-law or nephews since then. He stopped inviting me to their birthday parties etc, presumably because it was more important for my sister to be there. (She and the dead one were closest in age, had kids of similar age, and they had had a very close relationship.) If he’s even met my son, it’s only been in passing at my mom’s.
My mom almost died just before the holidays a couple years ago, and my estranged sister showed up at the hospital while I was there, so we just put things aside because it’s rude to fight in the ICU. I’ve had to just expect that there’s a good chance that she will be there any time I go see my family. Nothing is resolved and it probably never will be.*
My little brother texted me a week ago Saturday, and it was pretty out of the blue and shocking:
[Brother-in-law] is building a new house on his property for himself. The other house is big and expensive for him to maintain and is worth allot so he sold it. He’s staying on the property, just moving to a different side of it. He asked that any of us that wanted to go through the stuff there that was [Dead Sister]'s, like nic nacs and stuff. He said there’s like a months time before he’s gotta start trashing anything left. He said there’s some furniture too
It never occurred to me that he might sell that house. I fully expected he would build another, smaller one someday or maybe even move away from that neighborhood, but that one of my nephews would live in the big one. He has (had?) a lot of money and it had been so long, I just (stupidly!) thought it was settled. But maybe he’s sick, maybe my nephews don’t want to live there, maybe he just can’t look at her cabin anymore now that he can live somewhere else.
And the reality of the situation didn’t sink in for me until yesterday afternoon. It was conceivable that he might someday sell the house and land together and another family would live there; it is so hard to grasp that the cabin itself is leaving. I think I’m realizing that in my heart, I have never thought of her grave as her real resting site. That cabin is the tomb of my sister’s spirit, and I’m devastated to know that someone will come and take it apart and take it away.
I don’t want to go pick out pieces to bring home – I want the whole thing to stay there, intact forever. If her cabin stays there, intact forever, then part of her never died and never will.
I know that’s ridiculous and unreasonable. I know this is an incredibly privileged thing to be sad about – oh waa waaa waaaaaa, it’s been 20 years and you have to take your husband’s truck to your dead sister’s house to go accumulate more prized possessions, and you even have the foreknowledge and time and resources to do it and somewhere to put the stuff? please, cry more – but it kinda feels like finding out she’s dead all over again, and yes, I will go cry more.
(* - I’ll explain if you’re curious, but this was too long already.)
Edit: is was simultaneously less and more unhinged than I expected
I will be back to discuss tomorrow, I’m still desperately trying to ignore my feelings for the rest of this evening
Edit again 4 days later: idk when I’m gonna be able to come back to this.
A long time ago, my dad took me to visit his dad’s farm one last time. His dad was a fucking monster and no one was sad to see him pass. I used to live with him way before I had the ability to form most memories, I remember him chasing pigs and I remember playing on the couch. We moved out of his house because my parents came home to me having a broken bone grand dad wouldn’t explain.
When my dad lived there, it was a 2 room shack. One room for the common room, the other for the bedroom. They didn’t have electricity or plumbing until way later. When I visited the place with him, the shack had mostly fallen over. The wood was that weird brown black color rotted and faded by the sun, somehow subfloor cracked open to soil. I remember feeling thankful and gracious that this place had basically been swallowed up by the earth. Nothing anyone in his family had said about the place was good.
The guy who bought grand dads farm was the rapidly aging grandson of one of the guys who took over the land my people had lived on for a long time, before the highways came. When they first came up, people would laugh “Why are white people putting up fences? Are they stupid?” Now when he passes there will be no one to own the farm except like some Saudi fund and no one around to work it. Maybe the deer and muskrat and coyote can come have it back.
I didn’t feel much for the place except happy that the pain was at least somewhat over.
❤️ thank you for sharing this.
I remember feeling thankful and gracious that this place had basically been swallowed up by the earth. … I didn’t feel much for the place except happy that the pain was at least somewhat over.
I’m really glad it brought you and your family some peace.
Maybe the deer and muskrat and coyote can come have it back.
this is the best and most correct wish for all of this stolen land, including the spot where my sister’s cabin was built
I’m really sorry if my post came across poorly 😞 just grappling with unexpected renewed grief and realizing I had silly, unexamined wishes for some kind of gentle permanence in a world of brutal change
I don’t think there’s anything privileged at all here. It sounds like a very reasonable thing to mourn, for a lot of reasons. Not just your sister but a whole host of memories from a time before things are now. I definitely understand how that feels. As I get older more of those people places and things that were an important part of some past version of who I am now are disappearing. I’m not even a very sentimental person and it still hurts me when I think about how places like my grandpa’s basement (which was an amazing place to young me for a lot of reasons) doesn’t exist anymore. So yeah I don’t think it’s privileged at all to mourn the loss of the cabin. It sounds like it was a special place to you.
I’m open to hearing the text behind the * if you think sharing will help you feel a little better.
it’s hard to see places once regarded as everlasting, fall away and vanish.
I moved a lot as a kid, but one of those homes I lived in from like 5-13 was bulldozed along with a dozen others to make an on-ramp. the other places we lived and generally unfamiliar due to development.
when I was old enough to drive, I went to those old places exploring and what had once seemed eternal and palatial was now small or gone forever, unrecognizably reconfigured.
it’s weird, because never having had a place (my parents moved again after I left home) that I could return to, I’ve always wanted to create one for those that come later. some place I could invest myself in, that would be around long after I’ve gone for others to call home. but I seem to be the odd one in the family, who are all always eager to “trade up” and see everything as temporary.
the irony being that I have lived far more places across even greater distances now than all of them combined.
I don’t know what any of it means, but I see these places with people who have ancestral homes and lands and I can’t even imagine how that feels inside, but I wish I could.
I know that when I traveled once to the area of the world where rumor has it my family’s great grandwhatevers fled from more than a century ago, i really wanted to move there. the vibes were great, the views romantic, and the communities have a dearth of younger people looking for that quiet life, but the people in charge of who can cross borders permanently have made emigrating a nightmare.
maybe it will all collapse and I can just stuff my life into a shipping container and show up one day. “Hey everybody. I’m back. The settlements were a complete failure.”
That is really hard thing to mourn. Have you thought about a ritual or some kind of script to help you find closure while you are there? I found for really intense experiences like the one you are describing going out there that pre-planning some kind of routine helps me to channel my feelings because I get overwhelmed in the moment.
One I do with my students is to walk around the room and say goodbye to the objects and to special memories made in the room. So for example we would say “goodbye chairs” and “goodbye ‘when Marisol made up the Oooliebooliebubbachoogie’”. That way our last memories of the space are of gratitude and we try to pull the gratitude into our bodies so there isn’t a hole left when that space is gone.
Here is another one for crying in a place that my friend gave me:
Sit down somewhere comfortable. Feel the pressure where your body connects to the surfaces that are supporting it (the back of the chair, the floor under your feet). Cup you hands in your lap like you are holding a vessel - a large bowl or an urn, something sacred or something simple.
Feel the place of tears origins, the heart, the belly, the solar plexus, where ever they start for you. Trace the way the move upward, toward the throat and the eyes.
Then take a breath and feel the place where they start again, the heart, the belly, the solar plexus. Trace the path upward, but instead of moving into the throat, look down at your hands. Imagine the tears moving through your shoulders, down the length of your arms, into your hands.
Imagine the bowl you are holding in your hands. Imagine the tears filling up the bowl from the bottom up.
:meow-hug: you aren’t being ridiculous, I get very attached to places like that too. I’m sorry. I’m also sorry about your estranged sister, that is really hard. My family has multiple situations like that. I know today’s going to be a rough day for you but I’ll be thinking about you and wishing you the best :meow-hug:
Your post reminded me of the song “Old Home Place”
… It's been ten long years since I left my home In the holler where I was born Where the cool fall night makes the wood smoke rise And a fox hunter blows his horn. I fell in love with a girl from the town I thought that she could be true I ran away to Charlottesville And worked in a sawmill too. What have they done to the old home place, Why did they tear it down And why did I leave the plow in the field And look for a job in the town. Well the girl ran off with somebody else The sheriff took all my pay And here I stand where the old home stood Before they took it away. Now the geese fly south and the cold wind moans, I stand alone and hang my head. I've lost my love, I've lost my home And now I wish I was dead. What have they done to the old home place, Why did they tear it down. And why did I leave the plow in the field And look for a job in the town.Anyway, when I graduated my parents ending up selling moving out of our old house. It just became to expensive to maintain and they wanted to do other things with their lives. The quiet lake which we lived near has gradually been more and more developed to the point of 50% of of the shoreline being someone’s yard. You see trees cleared away and the natural dirt banks which cave in as the supporting earth is eroded away replaced with piles of grey rock hauled in from some nearby quarry. Our house, the holder of my cherished memories, became the summer home of some rich pricks from a rich city in the state. No one lives but a few months of the year. The entire stand of young trees that was growing in a place were 20 years prior a mighty oak had fell were flattened because you could see less of the lake. Our simpler wooden dock had been replaced with one much grander and the shoreline, much like all the others, took on that grey rock border.
I feel you in earnest here. It sucks that the passage of time and the warmth of the past is gradually drawn out of much of the world. I hope my somewhat similar experience can being you a little solace.
I feel for you comrade
I completely understand your perspective. You want a physical part of her to persist. In that way it will be like she never really went away.
Whether or not the cabin is gone she will never really go away. Sometimes you or your family thinks about the things she said or did. They know the way she would have responded to a question or situation. Maybe sometimes you pass down a bit of knowledge or a bit of quirkiness that she passed to you, a catchphrase or a quip she was known for. These parts of her aren’t just a physical thing, static and lifeless on some property nobody visits anymore. They are living and real. They are part of you and become part of others. In this way, the ripples still move across the surface even though her stone has sunk below the waters of life.
So take some time to remember and pass on a living piece of her to the people you know. And be well, my friend.
It’s not rediculous or unreasonable at all, like many of the other posters said its dug up old wounds and the loss of a place can be very painful as well. Places like that are homes, and even though they may be objects, homes are part of families in their own way. My heart goes out to you because there is a special place like that in my life too and I would be devestated if it were unexpectedly gone.
Your emotions are not silly, and you are allowed to feel what you’re feeling <3
I really deeply appreciate all of your kindness and support.
I’m still in the processing stage where trying to engage with it directly is overwhelming, so I don’t have any words yet. I’m sorry to leave you all hanging.
