by Lidia Ranns
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27 July 2025
I’m bursting with thoughts and emotions at the moment, and it’s coming out in words not visually. This isnt art related, but significant enough for me to feel I need to get some words out and put them somewhere. It’s been a really funny old time recently, coming to terms with my mums passing earlier this year and trying to find that new normal. Since that day, myself and my siblings have found comfort in our company together, it’s really hard to explain, and as different as we all are, we share a grief, the loss of our matriarch and the one that just made us always feel better. Mum was the anchor. You see, our family home was like a community centre, not just for us 6 siblings but our extended family and friends too. It’s hard to take in, today I said goodbye to what was, for 62 years, simply home. This house, the one Mum and Dad bought when they got married, the one that started its life as a busy grocer's shop until I came along, it’s now empty and silent. Both Mum and Dad have passed, and soon, a new, young family will fill these rooms with their own laughter and create their own special memories. This house was the noisy, beating heart of our family. Every corner holds a story. The worn floorboards that creaked as we tiptoed in after a night out, and how we learnt to navigate them without waking mum and dad! The kitchen table that saw endless bowls of pastina, newspaper pages flicking over as dad had his lunch and inhaled his hot tea, cups of coffee and tea with Mum's pearls of wisdom flowing freely, and an endless supply of biscuits. Faint pencil lines still visible if you know where to look (no one looked in my wardrobe). Dad’s armchair by the TV, Mum’s favourite spot by the window, surveillance at its best! And the playroom in the cellar! My hideout, the walls that were once covered in my cartoon drawings, and my brother’s handy work, a piano that served as a launch pad for my brothers’ Airfix planes, and the best hiding places as long as you didnt mind a spider saying hello too! In latter years, the cellar became my dad’s man cave, where he spent hours making his intricate model boats etc. So many special memories. As siblings, we've been in and out of these rooms over the past weeks, not just packing boxes, but unearthing layers of our shared history. Each item, each dusty photo album, each piece of furniture sparked a memory, a story, a moment we thought we’d forgotten. And then there was the lasagne and gnocchi, still frozen in the freezer, this time, it marked the very last we’d ever savour that unbeatable taste, home cooked by our mum. There’s no words. There have been tears, of course, but so much laughter too, remembering the quirky habits, the unbreakable traditions, and the sheer, overwhelming feeling of love that passed through each and every room. It’s a strange feeling, but a new family will soon be calling this home. They'll paint the walls, rearrange the furniture, and maybe even discover those little bits of ‘graffiti’ I rebelliously wrote as a kid. We genuinely hope they fill it with as much love, laughter, and sense of community as mum and dad did. Acknowledging the end of an extraordinary era, accepting that the physical hub of our family, the place we always knew we could return to, is changing hands. But the memories, the lessons, the profound love, and that incredible spirit of ‘family’, those aren't bound by these walls. They're etched in our hearts, carried within each of us, ready to be shared and passed down through generations. So, goodbye old house. Thank you for holding us, nurturing us, and being the silent, ever present witness to 62 years of our family's noisy, quirky and happy story. You'll always be home in our hearts. For more heartfelt stories, behind the scenes peeks and special updates and offers, I'd love you to come and join my mailing list. Sign up here and get 10% off an online order too :-)