End of an Era

Michael's family sold their farm yesterday. It didn't go for as much as they had all hoped it would, but it went pretty well for today's market. We weren't looking for a windfall; as we said to each other last night on the ride home after dinner in Rehoboth, we could live without it and be happy. There won't be that much once all is said and done: there are taxes to pay, and the auctioneer gets a nice bite, and there are still some expenses associated with the farm until the new owner settles some time in the next forty-five days.
The worst part of it is that it's like a death in the family for Michael. There are happy milestones in everyone's family--marriage, the birth of children--and  sad ones, too--the death of one's parents or other loved ones, divorce, sickness--but for Michael, letting the farm go is one of the top five negative stessors in his life, right after losing his father, his mother, and his niece Tracey.
He lived on that farm for almost half his life, and he took care of it his whole life. Except for living in the dorms and in an apartment while he was in college, Michael lived there until we were married when he was almost 28. He went back home after college when all he could get was a seasonal job at the airport, and then, when that led him to permanent work at Dresser, he stayed at home, saving money and helping out. When his father died in 1975, he stayed on for two more years so that his mother wouldn't be alone.
After we got married, his Saturdays were usually spent at the farm, cutting grass, doing whatever chores needed doing. Over the years the work changed, and as his mother aged his responsibilities expanded. At first, I was jealous of his days "down there," until I realized that his Saturdays at the farm gave me my own personal Saturdays at home. I could do whatever I wanted to--clean, or read, or watch movies, or shop--without answering to anyone. After the kids came along, he would also take them down on Tuesday nights, when I worked, to have dinner with their grandmother.
Michael's mother lived to 88; she was sixty when her husband died at 63.That means that Michael took care of her the same length of time she took care of him--28 years, and there was never a moment of resentment in it. Michael loved his parents and he loved the farm where he grew up. He took care of his mother as he thought his father would have, had he lived. I helped out some--I took her into Salisbury for doctor's appointments or to shop after she stopped driving outside of the tiny community of Willards.I found out that one can learn a great deal about a man from watching the way he treats his mother. Thus, the more he did for her, the more I noticed what he did for me. He also showed the boys how to treat their mother. Whatever resentment some women might have felt toward their husbands and their mothers-in-law, I didn't feel. I had my issues with her over the years, and I can see her influence on Michael in some ways I don't particularly like, but overall, she was tied in to the farm, and his childhood was essentially idyllic.
While his brother remembers toiling on what was, in his time, a working farm, and his sisters remember feeling isolated and out of the loop being so far from Salisbury, Michael remembers with deep affection almost everything about living there, including having to ride his bike into town just to have someone to play baseball with.He remembers walking the farm with his father, helping his mother tend the chickens, having family meals together, listening to his father laugh at television programs, riding his brother's Chincoteague pony, running away from his sisters as they chased him through the house.
Even in the later years, when his mother needed live-in care and then moved to assisted living, Michael dealt with all of it. He kept the checkbook and paid the bills and scheduled the sitters and called the repairmen; at our house, I shared these responsibilities, but he did  it mostly alone for his mother and the farm.
Today, Michael didn't quite know what to do with himself. Luckily, it was a warm and windy day, just like yesterday, so all the plants around the house needed watering. That kept him busy for several hours. We took a walk, shared a glass of wine, watched a little TV. Tomorrow will bring a little more tying up of loose ends and a little more healing, but we both know the mourning process moves at its own pace, so we'll take it slowly and deal with each new stage as it comes.