A House Is Not A Home
Dear Rachel,
I’m pretty sure we’d talked about the man who owns the house next door… He doesn’t live in it; actually, no one does. The house has been empty for at least 20 (some of the neighbors say closer to 30) years. It just sits, dark and brooding, with no occupants other than an occasional squirrel that manages to find its way in through an attic vent.
The house is showing its age, but it isn’t dilapidated or unsightly. Mr. S. comes by every day to check on it, and a crew arrives every couple of weeks to mow and trim. Every year or so a painter paints the fence—our side as well as Mr. S’s side—and every few years the entire house gets painted.
I have to admit that it’s nice having such quiet neighbors.
Mr. S. is a bit odd, of course. After all, why would someone hang on to an empty house? It’s a very nice house in a wonderful neighborhood; if you’re not going to live in it, why not sell or rent it?
But he won’t do that. The house is a shrine of sorts to his son. Many years ago, Mr. S. bought the house for his son—I don’t know whether he’d intended it as a loan, or whether it was a wedding present, or whether there was some other arrangement involved. In any case, the son died of cancer before he could even move in.
Since then, the house just sits. Mr. S. won’t rent it out, he won’t live in it, and he won’t sell it. He simply keeps it more or less tidy, driving by in his old Caddy to check on it every day.
Until last May, I didn’t understand Mr. S. at all. He was obviously a little odd to begin with, and the death of his son (and then, years later, his wife) seems to have put him over the edge. He’s not crazy, but he’s more than a bit off-center. When you and I spoke of him and of his house, I’m pretty sure we just decided the guy was “weird but harmless,” and let it go at that. After all, how could someone let a death drive him to such a state? People die. It’s terrible, of course, but it happens. “OK, it’s sad,” we were saying in so many words. “Now get on with your life.”
I guess it’s easy to come up with quick, facile judgments when you’ve never felt the pain of the person you’re judging. I understand Mr. S. a little better now. There is no pain like this pain. If he wants to keep an empty house as a shrine to his son, then let him. I can understand how he feels.
Love,
Dad
I’m pretty sure we’d talked about the man who owns the house next door… He doesn’t live in it; actually, no one does. The house has been empty for at least 20 (some of the neighbors say closer to 30) years. It just sits, dark and brooding, with no occupants other than an occasional squirrel that manages to find its way in through an attic vent.
The house is showing its age, but it isn’t dilapidated or unsightly. Mr. S. comes by every day to check on it, and a crew arrives every couple of weeks to mow and trim. Every year or so a painter paints the fence—our side as well as Mr. S’s side—and every few years the entire house gets painted.
I have to admit that it’s nice having such quiet neighbors.
Mr. S. is a bit odd, of course. After all, why would someone hang on to an empty house? It’s a very nice house in a wonderful neighborhood; if you’re not going to live in it, why not sell or rent it?
But he won’t do that. The house is a shrine of sorts to his son. Many years ago, Mr. S. bought the house for his son—I don’t know whether he’d intended it as a loan, or whether it was a wedding present, or whether there was some other arrangement involved. In any case, the son died of cancer before he could even move in.
Since then, the house just sits. Mr. S. won’t rent it out, he won’t live in it, and he won’t sell it. He simply keeps it more or less tidy, driving by in his old Caddy to check on it every day.
Until last May, I didn’t understand Mr. S. at all. He was obviously a little odd to begin with, and the death of his son (and then, years later, his wife) seems to have put him over the edge. He’s not crazy, but he’s more than a bit off-center. When you and I spoke of him and of his house, I’m pretty sure we just decided the guy was “weird but harmless,” and let it go at that. After all, how could someone let a death drive him to such a state? People die. It’s terrible, of course, but it happens. “OK, it’s sad,” we were saying in so many words. “Now get on with your life.”
I guess it’s easy to come up with quick, facile judgments when you’ve never felt the pain of the person you’re judging. I understand Mr. S. a little better now. There is no pain like this pain. If he wants to keep an empty house as a shrine to his son, then let him. I can understand how he feels.
Love,
Dad
posted by Rod at 4:23 PM
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