The end of April seemed forever. Wishing time could pass quickly, we plunged ourselves into selling the house, disposing of worldly goods, and making endless decisions. Until then I’d been sifting and sorting possessions halfheartedly, as though this final departure would never happen. More than once it crossed my mind I might not want it to happen. Life could be painful either way, leaving or staying. I wondered, apprehensively, how it would be to walk away from our home forever.
Twenty two years in one house gathered lots of memories. We moved to Curtis Street in February, 1951. That was easy to remember because the 1st celebration in our new home was the 2nd birthday of our elder son, Randy. Jean, our only daughter, was to be 4 the following July. Jon was born three years later, in March, 1954.
The house, itself, grew as Ken built five more rooms with garage, and added more land for our lovely backyard and pool. As he put so much of himself into the place, doing most of the work, it seemed logical to suppose we would never leave.
Tragedy struck in 1966. Jean, a student nurse at Swedish American Hospital in Rockford, IL, and Randy, who had finished his junior year of high school, were both killed in a senseless accident on a motorcycle. They were travelling 15 MPH down W. Locust Street in Dubuque, and were struck down by a car which illegally made a left turn. At that time I wanted to flee from our home with its wonderful memories being distorted by nightmarish ones conjured up by the accident and by those hospital scenes through which we lived … and they died.
But most advice goes, “Don’t make any big final changes when faced with tragedy. Take each day as it comes.” With God’s help, that is what we did. A loss such as this is not something you get over. It is a thing with which you must learn to live. Almost seven years had passed, so we were through that crucial period, when leaving our home might have ‘rubbed more salt in our wounds’.than staying did.
Looking forward, with hopes pinned on acquiring the Pious Puffin, we began sorting possessions in earnest. But, the 1st of April our hopes were dashed as word came that the purchaser would make the final payment. Back to the planning board for us! A resolution was made: sell the house and then proceed. First things first from here on. We continued perusing brochures and ads, but with dampened spirits.
A month later we rejoiced. The situation had reversed, and all guilt feelings for being joyful were quickly dispelled as we learned that the unsuccessful buyer had planned only to move the Puffin to the West Coast to sell her at a profit. But having convinced ourselves of the good sense in the new resolution, it was decided any boat, even this one, must wait until our affairs were settled.
In August the house sold. Jon’s summer job ended, leaving him just enough time to get his things packed for return to college at Iowa State University. I began resorting household goods. Finding it hard to make a clean sweep, I’d been parting with some lesser things, then waiting a few days until more ‘least of the group’ items seemed to surface. Suddenly that procedure was too slow. Our buyer needed the house very soon. This was good, for with hurried vacating and resettling, there was little time to be nostalgic about leaving our home.