Do I have to pay Crosby, Still and Nash for using that lyric as a title here? No? Fantastic.
Moving on...
In 1988, a family moved into a house in the village of Conquest. This family consisted of a mother, a father, and three very young boys. It was in this house that they would make many, many memories over the years that followed, whether it was endless Christmas celebrations, summertime fun, and family reunions that brought everyone home again.
In 2013, the patriarch of this family passed away. As heartbreaking and as sad as this critical blow was to the family, everyone managed to take things day by day and move on, with memories flooding everyone's hearts and minds of the man who helped kickstart this entire family in the first place.
In 2021, the matriarch of this family passed away. Once again, this sad and heartbreaking turn of events, which was also unexpected, dealt a swift, low blow to the family, particularly to her three grieving sons, and it would start a chain of events that would lead to the reality that sits in front of those three men today.
Of course, what I'm talking about is my own family, and the reality that sits in front of my brothers and I today is the fact that we are now selling the Ruttle family home in Conquest.
I've gone through a litany of emotions when it comes to that house and Conquest in general since our mother Lynda died in March 2021. I've grieved, I've cried, I've missed, I've felt a massive void of emptiness, and I've wondered aloud just how the hell do I even go on in life. I've felt physical and emotional pain at the sheer thought of driving back to that house at night after a day's work has been carried out, and that's simply due to the fact that it wasn't my house. It was Mom's house, and our family lived in it together. But now that she was gone, it just became.....the house. The house in Conquest.
For the longest time, that was the emotion that I felt. In my eyes, Mom was gone, and so that meant that the emotional connection I had with the house was severed and didn't exist anymore. A year ago, my brother Brendon and I moved to Outlook, and I couldn't be happier at the time because it meant that we were finally out of that house and we were out of Conquest. We needed fresh starts and fresh surroundings, and Outlook has provided that for us in the time since.
But now, a year later, the circumstances have changed. For the last few weeks, my brothers and I have cleaned up, carried bag after bag after bag after bag after bag of old belongings and junk out, washed counters and walls, painted, and just completely emptied the house in Conquest. As you read this, I will have written a short blurb highlighting the home's features and taken photos of the interior and exterior over the long weekend. That's because the For Sale sign has been bought and stuck in the front lawn, and the listing will have gone up on Facebook.
Yep, it's time to sell our family home, hopefully to another family who will love and cherish it for a good long time, just as we did.
I have a lot of great and cherished memories from that house over the years, and to be honest, even I'm surprised at the fact that one of those memories took place literally just days after Mom had passed away.
It was early April a couple of years ago, and it was on the night of the visitation at the Outlook Funeral Chapel. It ended up being a gorgeous spring evening, and I remember pulling up to the chapel on Selkirk Street and seeing the rest of my brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and aunt and uncle standing in the middle of the street like some kind of gang. Although, in this instance, that "gang" probably would've lent you a few bucks if you needed it instead of stealing it from you.
It was just what I needed, to be surrounded by family who were grieving over the loss of Mom just as much as I was. We each went into the chapel, stood over my mom in a casket, and said our goodbyes. Afterward, everyone piled into vehicles and we all went back to the house in Conquest, where we drank, ate, shared memories, shed a few tears, and enjoyed a bonfire. Looking back on it, it was kind of like therapy.
However, I believe that my favorite memory of living in that house came when I was 10 years old during Christmas of 1995. I've shared this story before, but it's my favorite one of my dad, so dangit, I'm sharing it again.
The Ruttle clan was hosting another big "Everybody comes home for the holidays" Christmas that year, and the first to arrive was my oldest brother, Jim. Everyone sat around the kitchen table as Jim put his bags on the floor, and we all began to catch up while Mom prepared some hot chocolate. Soon, Jim told us three young boys that we could take our gifts from him to put underneath the tree in the living room. Perry takes his gift and exits to the living room, followed by Brendon, and then when it came time for me, Jim told me that unfortunately, he didn't have a gift to give me because the mail delivery was slower than expected and it hadn't arrived in time for Christmas. However, he told me, I wasn't to worry and I could expect it after the holidays.
I told him okay, that was no problem, and I grabbed some hot chocolate from Mom before going into the living room to watch a wrestling tape. I soon got lost in the thrilling adventures of watching grown men play fight, and I thought nothing of it.
A little while went by, and I heard my dad say that he had to visit the washroom. You have to walk through the living room to get to the hallway where the bathroom is in that house, and on Dad's shuffle through, he looked in my direction and then I noticed that he doubled back to see if he was being watched from the kitchen. Apparently he wasn't, and so Dad came walking up to me while I watched my tape on the floor in front of the TV. He then knelt down beside me so that he was level with me, which had to wreck unspeakable pain on his knees, which at that point were already on borrowed time. Speaking quietly, Dad told me that he was sorry that I didn't have anything to open from my brother, and proceeded to spoil the surprise for me so that I'd at least be able to anticipate what would be coming in the mail; a Calgary Hitmen WHL jersey, the team co-owned by WWF legend Bret 'the Hitman' Hart. I smiled, thanked Dad, and then watched as he smiled, eventually got back to his feet, and finally went to the bathroom.
I smile to this day every time I remember that moment. It's my favorite memory of my father, which took place in a house that became full of memories over the course of many years.
We should all be so lucky to grow up in a house full of love, laughter, and moments that make us smile so many years later.
Our family was certainly lucky in that regard.
For this week, that's been the Ruttle Report.
