Impressionist Photo Art Print ~The Light at the End~ by Tarmo Peters

She had lived here, mostly by herself, for a very long time. Before being driven to the forced frugality of owning this house, she had lived in other places under other circumstances, suffering through tragic loss and the ensuing hardships. But by these particular circumstances, her strong-willed Depression-era nature was forged into an even more austere, iron-willed asceticism. Religion provided something but it wasn’t happiness.

If these walls could talk they would give a discreet account of the ways in which gloom took residence in the memory fibres of the wallpaper, paint, wood and bricks. They would describe the darkness, the worn furniture, the strict self-reliance, the crustiness of a limited world view and the resonating sounds of a cross being born for the benefit of family. The house knew in its bones that she wasn’t unkind. But it also knew that the necessity of financial thriftiness ran parallel to the penny-wise outlay of compassion.

And thus sombreness descended upon the house and shadows took root. Eventually age left its own mark. Like the shifting alliances in global politics, the stairs became an enemy and her old and fading mind a treacherous ally. Accommodations were made and she fought. But ultimately she lost the battle, left the field and died, joining, hopefully, her long lost husband. For her, and the house, the light finally came at the end.