Moving On

The Spring of 1982 was an exciting time. My mom and dad had just retired, moved from Fullerton, California, and purchased a home in Forest City, North Carolina. My brother Jon and I were traveling in a band together, zig-zagging across the eastern part of the US. So taking advantage of a few days off, we headed to our parent's new home for an inaugural visit.

I remember that first time with Jon: the trees were just beginning to bud, yet it was still cold enough for a jacket. We walked down to the stream that ran across their newly purchased piece of property. Coming from California--with warmer, milder weather--the four seasons of the North Carolina offered a change that was refreshing and mysterious. The local culture was new, with heavy southern accents and neighbors that waved indiscriminately at passing cars. The phrase, "Y'all come back!" seemed to be used often, even though the offer was probably more symbolic than actual.

The friendly atmosphere was sweet. My parents took to Forest City like a fish to water--it was natural and authentic. Mom and dad amassed a living room full of friends in a very short time. Jon and I would slowly work our way into the hearts of the locals--with our mullets and rock & roll attire. Christmas vacation and short breaks would be spent at the house, but most of the time we were out on the road.

Jon left the road and lived there for a few years before heading down to Alabama to finish college. I met my bride-to-be in Mobile, Alabama, and made plans to introduce Brenda to mom, dad and their Forest City home. After we married, the kids came with us to see grandma and grandpa. Josh spent his first trip as a newborn, sleeping in a drawer that was removed from a chest in the "blue" room my folks set up for us.

The kids grew. And as they did, we made the trip to North Carolina a couple of times a year. Then one Saturday in April of 1997, we received the news that my mom had passed away. That somber trip back for the funeral made the home seem like a lonelier place, even though dad would eventually bounce back from grief. We moved there to be near him for a few years, but eventually moved to Tennessee where we now live. Dad stayed there, living alone for ten more years. His health issues eventually prompted us to sell the Forest City house so he could permanently live with us in Spring Hill.

In a few weeks the sale of the home, along with emptying it's contents, will be in the past. The memories of thirty years, calling it our second home, will fade into memory. As we turn the key to lock the back door for the last time, I'm sure it won't be easy--especially for dad. It will be the same time of year that Jon and I were first introduced to the house. The moving trucks will pull out of the driveway,  and we'll get a final view of the little house in the rear-view mirror.

Time to move on--dad says--but it's still bitter sweet.