A shell of a life together

With only three weeks untill my final deadline everything is starting to come together this weekend I have been photographing my Gramp's empty home, this was a surreal activity as I realised that since my Nan's death I haven't been in rooms of the house, yet there they still stood, with her belongings just as I remembered them, all jumbled, cluttered, abandoned. I felt lonely in the disowned rooms, one being the attic, this was where I'd sleep if I ever stayed there, my bed however was gone, the dresser that I used to play with, run my fingers across it's top, pretend to dust its mirror, hide things in it's draws, still stood there, but not so loud and proud as it used to, this time covered in boxes or piles of stuff for people to take. The room was bare, just a few boxes, bags and several piles of memories. Underneath the window I used to sing out of when I was little stood a chair, with a box of wraped up porcelain. How strange, the things people chose to keep. Down in the kitchen I found a cupboard that I have never opened before, I've never had too I suppose, but inside was a real shock, all the couple's crockery stacked neatly, this has probably been the same since Nan died. In a way it was nice to see, but it became unbearable after a while, almost like being smacked with the reality of death over and over again. In her wardrobe hung a cardigan with a tissue still tucked in the pocket. Her draws still held folded table clothes, doilies, and napkins. All televisions remained still, quiet and switched off, regardless of their age. Pictures still hanging, their chairs still able to be sat in, beds still made, curtains undrawn, kitchen still longing to be cooked in,and a bathroom that nobodies washed in. A whole house full of memories that soon nobody alive will remember half of, just a shell of a life together left.