I got an unexpected phone call yesterday.
I recognised the number straight away, one digit different from my own landline.
An invitation for pizza, I’m told my ex next door neighbours will be there; I’ve been trying to work it out, must be eighteen years since we moved.
The number used to be for Ken’s old office.
We sold our family home to a lovely family who have enjoyed it ever since. I mentioned this special house in my eulogy at Ken’s funeral, building and designing it was one of our greatest achievements. The present owners attended and were deeply touched. Hence the invite.
When our kids grew up we needed a new challenge, (my present house, then we also built the house next door).
As a family how ever, we all left a bit of our hearts at this former address.
Sitting in the garden felt so strange, different but essentially the same. The hardscaping, decking, stone sets and hedges just as before. A bit more wild with environmental credentials; and of course all the shrubs and plants that I planted are now fully mature.
The house itself was built to last and looked exactly as we left it. A few additions which James designed and Ken actually built for the new owners, but again it was fundamentally no different.
It felt like stepping back in time.
I reminisced with my former neighbours and we told stories of our time together. The millennium dome Ken made in the garden for the biggest street party ever.
Our family dog Harvey and his brother Barney both from the same litter. They grew up next door to each other and remained faithful friends even after we moved.
The present owners and their other guests listened with great interest sharing the history of their home. I pretended to be fine about it all, but deep down ached for the happiness we once shared in this place and if I’m honest felt the pain of the more difficult times again.
Returning to the family house we built together meant every corner held shared dreams, hard work, and history, making it feel far more than just a physical building.
I felt the ghost of design, my choices of thirty years ago still very evident, Ken’s skill everywhere, if I’m honest I’d forgotten how much love we put into it and how sad it was to let it go when life imploded.
But we had to move on.
The oak floor recently re sanded looked fantastic, new kitchen doors and worktops recently but our design totally unchanged. Memories of those specific decisions we made together came flooding back. The past felt close enough to touch.
Watching another family live in our once sacred space did feel a bit surreal as if the past and present were blurred together. I admit feeling sudden waves of grief despite my efforts to be happy and cheerful. I know the family who live here respect and love the house and are so grateful they bought it and raised their children here too, I’m glad for them.
I didn’t stay long, Hettie was my exit strategy ‘She needed her evening walk’. I needed time to process.
Today I think I been suffering from an emotional hangover, seeing the layout exactly as we left it made 20 years feel like 20 minutes, I felt like I have been in a time capsule. A time before dementia, when Alzheimer’s was for ‘old’ people.
An incredibly beautiful yet deeply tender invitation I wasn’t quite expecting the emotional impact. why did I accept? To catch up with old friends and a fair pinch of curiosity?
I have to remind myself life has grown and evolved since those times. I live in a wonderful place with lovely neighbours, in a house that is just as special.
Ken’s legacy lives on.
livinglifeafterdeath.com/blog 