Week 6: Prompt 29 When you finally arrived, it was nothing like you imagined...

Two years ago to date (February 19, 2010) I had to go to Seattle to help care for my terminally ill mother in law who passed a month later.  Her dream of traveling had come to a standstill when she was diagnosed with cancer.

Upon my arrival, entering the RV Park, it was a quiet quaint little place.  RV's filled every spot in the park.  People everywhere, some visiting, some walking.  The porch had an indoor-outdoor carpet that was weathered from the good ol' Seattle rain.  A ramp connected for Heidi (the family dog) to walk down to go potty.  The grill camouflaged by a layer of grease, bag of trash needing to find it's way to the dumpster, and a commode took residence on the deck.  Upon entering, a walker stood in the livingroom area, bears covered the shelves.  The smell of fresh roses drifted from the two dozen long stems by the bedside.  Shades were opened wide, the sun was shining in brightly. The kitchen table had been folded down and mattress upon it for sleeping.  Thirty three days later, we returned to Maine.

February 18th, we got an unexpected call,  Father in law just passed.  February 19th again, we arrive at Seatac Airport.

Pulling into the RV park was different this time.  The moldy, stagnant smell lingered, several lots were empty, no one was around and many had passed.  Heidi, too, was gone.  It wasn't how we left it, it wasn't what we expected.  The porch was empty, bears were boxed.  The closets were bare.  On the table sat food and dishes that had been pulled from the cupboards.  Carpets were soiled and a film so thick on the windows, one could hardly see.  The walls were yellowed from smoke and grime.    The clock that hung over the door was found in the bedroom laid on the bed.  Photos stacked on the benches by the table.  This time, there was no sun, only rain.

It wasn't what we remembered, it wasn't what we imagined.