At first, the children, Marek and Kasia, seemed to understand how important this place was.
When my husband, Jan, left, the world I knew fell apart. We spent 45 years together, sharing every day, every joy, and every problem. We built our lives brick by brick, literally and figuratively. Our house, garden, small plot of land outside the city – all of these were symbols of our common path, our dreams, and hard work.
After he died, I was left alone in this world that seemed empty and meaningless. But despite the pain and longing, in every floorboard, in every corner of the garden, I saw his trace. This place was all we had left – our lives enclosed within walls and earth.
At first, the children, Marek and Kasia, seemed to understand how important this place was. They were with me in the most difficult moments, supporting me in my grief. But over time, their visits became less and less frequent, and their conversations became more and more practical.
– Mom, have you thought about doing anything about it? – Marek asked one day, pointing to the garden. – This house is too big for you. You don't need all this space.
– What do you mean, son? – I asked, though deep down I knew the answer.
– Maybe it's worth selling it? – Kasia interjected. – You could buy a smaller apartment, and we could split the rest. You know, so that it all makes sense.
I felt the blood drain from my face. Sell the house? The house that Jan and I built with our own hands? The house where the kids grew up, where every tree in the garden was planted by my husband?
– This place is my life, – I replied, trying to stay calm. – How can you even think about that.? It’s all we have left of our father.
But they didn’t stop. With each subsequent meeting, their pressure became more and more open. They talked about the cost of living, how the house was depreciating in value, how I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Their arguments were logical, but they had nothing to do with the emotions that tied me to this place.
– Mom, we want what’s best for you, – Marek said. – This house is just a place. And you can start a new life, somewhere easier for you.
„Just a place.” These words sounded like a sentence. How could they not understand that this house is not just walls and a roof? That it is memories, love, years of work, every moment spent with their father?
One night, when I couldn’t sleep, I walked around the house. I touched the furniture Jan had made with his own hands. I stopped at the table where we ate dinner together and looked at the pictures on the walls. Pictures of our children, our vacations together, our family. Was this really all going to end? Was everything we had built together really going to be sold like an ordinary thing?
The next day I gathered the strength to tell them.
– If you want to sell this house, wait until I’m gone,– I said quietly, looking them straight in the eye. – Because I will never agree to this. This is my place, my history. If that is not enough for you, then at least respect what is left of your father.
Silence fell. I saw that their gazes were full of shame, but I do not know if they understood. Maybe in their eyes I was just an old woman who did not want to move with the times. But for me this house is something more – it is my Jan, my love, my life.
And although I know that sooner or later this house may disappear, as long as I live, I will fight for every corner of it. Because it's the only thing I have left after I lost everything else.
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