Bittersweet

My sister and I inherited
Our family's summer home
Nestled in the green valley
Of Wurtsboro Hills.
The house has been used as a getaway
For many years.
During the winter months,
We close it down.
We antifreeze the pipes,
Turn off the heat,
And, like a bear, it hibernates,
Awaiting the return of spring.

We went up last weekend
To shut it down for the season.
I hadn't yet been up this year,
And had defended my reluctance
With a volley of commitments
And responsibilities
That needed tending to.
The truth, though, is that
I subconsciously avoid the house
Because when I enter
I journey through shadows.
I feel like a wraith,
Encountering the memories
Of people and places and times
That have crossed over.

I see my father's accordion,
And remember him playing
Roll Out the Barrel.
(I was the only five-year-old
Who could whip out a polka
With the best of them!)
I see my mother's Writer's Digests;
She was always talking about
Someday writing a book,
But someday never came
Soon enough for her.
I see my grandfather's instruments here,
Artifacts from a life
Lived and died
Before I was even born.
I hear my grandmother
Telling me stories about him -
About the night he was babysitting my mother,
And shot out the streetlights
With his shotgun
In order to amuse her.
My grandmother was a treasure trove
Of family stories;
Even now, I can see her
Sitting on the screen porch,
A cigarette in one hand,
And a cup of coffee in the other.
Pieces of our first home
Are here too,
Singed relics that somehow
Managed to survive
A three-alarm fire.

My sister has mentioned
That she might like to
Live there someday.
She will be able to layer
The memories of the house
With her own life
And all that it entails.

As for me...
It is too bittersweet.
There are too many parts
Joy and pain
That it brings
To the surface.

Lord,
You know and understand
The forces shaping
Both my sister's future
And mine.
Help us navigate
These months and years ahead.
Help us see and realize
Your plan for us,
However physically distant we are,
And however bittersweet
The memories and
The separation may be...