More than bricks and mortar - Our farewell to the family home
Lidia Ranns • 27 July 2025
If the rooms could talk
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.
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Clearing out a loved one's home after they've gone is an incredibly bittersweet experience. It's a task filled with poignant moments, as every item holds a memory, a story, and echoes of a life lived. Recently, I've been navigating this very journey along with my siblings while going through my late mum's house, and although it's hard to not feel the sadness, there's been moments of laughter with a nostalgic trip down memory lane. Sifting through the many pointless possessions I've kept all these years, I've found some absolute gems and prized possessions from my childhood. Little notes to and from my mum, photos I thought were long gone and I've laughed out loud at my old poems. And surprisingly, I've reminisced happily over my old school artwork. For years, these had been tucked away, out of sight, and out of mind. I honestly hadn't been able to bring myself to look at them for a long time, and I had excuse after excuse for not tackling this pile sooner...sorry mum. The emotions my old school artwork unearthed had been too overwhelming and upsetting in the past for various reasons. But as I began to unroll old dog eared and creased pieces of paper, and dust off old sketchbooks to uncover the creations from my formative years, something shifted. It was like reconnecting with a younger version of me - the little artist, the cheeky curious child, the dreamer with big hopes. Seeing the thick graphic lines of early drawings, the rebellious bold blocks of colour, and the silly, funny comics and characters I brought to life in the back of my old school French books brought a surprising sense of healing for me. It wasn't just the art, but rediscovering my favourite little treasures, my well loved toys, my collections of football stickers and scented erasers. Each item sparked a memory and a forgotten moment of joy. This trip through my past, guided by these little pieces of my history, has been profoundly therapeutic. It’s a powerful reminder of where my passion for creating began and how those early sparks still fuel my art today. This process has reinforced for me the enduring power of art, not only to create something for others but also to connect us to our own stories, to heal, and to remind us of who we are and it's never too late to chase your dreams. In business, we often get asked about our 'Why'...and my simple answer is, I owe this to 7 year old me.
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