The Saddest House in The World—A small holiday story

Sometimes around Christmas, I think of the lady who lived in The Saddest House in The World.  She used to be a neighbor of mine, but I never knew her.  She moved away many years ago, and the things I am about to show you no longer exist.  Some nice people bought her house and property, and have fixed it up. But her house used to look like this:

I am sure the story is very long, but I only got the short version. And what I know is this: The lady and her husband lived in this small house in Brisbane, California for many years, and they were happy. He was a successful tradesman of some kind, a machinist I think, and she was a homemaker and part-time teacher.

Then one day in 2003 the lady’s husband started to change. He kept to himself, mostly in his garage tinkering on odd projects. He screamed at the lady when they were together, and was verbally abusive to her even in their quiet moments. He never hit the lady, I am told, but he started to take his anger and aggression out on their house. Retired from his trade career, he started to remodel things, but wouldn’t finish them. And he cursed the lady and swore at her when she asked him why when she did not understand. She tried her best to keep the house and their property nice, but the husband kept tinkering and bashing down walls and leaving the yard untended until the lady all but gave up. Even though, I am told, she still loved him and would not leave him.

And this all went on for over a year. Until the husband collapsed one day and died, apparently from a brain tumor.  Doctors told the lady the tumor was also the reason for her husband’s change in behavior. But by then this was cold comfort and the irreversible damage had been done.

For the lady, it seems, had gone a little insane herself.

After her husband’s death, rumors circulated in our neighborhood about how the lady had turned to Jesus to cope with her circumstances. Now, the purpose of this small story is not to take any side regarding religion and those who practice it.  But the rumors about the lady were interesting to me because of what I heard she had done to her house in the name of Jesus while her husband was unknowingly sick, and after he passed away.

So, one day after the lady’s husband was dead and she had been forced to abandon her home to the creditors (during his illness, the husband had also secretly borrowed heavily against their home and property to get money for mysterious things), I went up to the lady’s house to see what I could see.

And it was after taking this series of photographs that I named the lady’s home The Saddest House in The World.  The lady had chosen to express her pain, desperation and faith in an unusual way, upon the walls.

I never knew the lady’s name until I entered the house. I imagine Nita is a nickname.

The image of the cartoon character Calvin upon the glass, shows almost the entire interior living space the lady shared with her husband for all those years.

In this last image, you can see some of the lady’s writings and where they were upon the walls in her all but gutted home.

I don’t know what she used to write most of her words. Some appear to be in highlighter, some in crayon, lipstick, I was never sure. Blood, in some form, was surely mixed into every thought she scrawled on a structure that was crumbling around her.

Not long after I took these pictures, and I to this day feel like I took something from her, the lady returned to her house and stayed for a few days.  She had a dog, a sleeping bag and a cooler and little else.  She spent those days overseeing what appeared to be the final disposition of her husband’s belongings in their garage.

Then one morning she was gone. That was five years ago, and she has not been seen since.

Technically, The Saddest House in The World hasn’t been seen since either.  As I mentioned, some nice younger people bought the property and have, I’m told, spent quite a bit of money remodeling the house and making it cheerful and livable again.  It certainly looks much better now, and the young folks who own the place seem nice and have been pleasant neighbors, although they and I still don’t know each other very well.  I’ll have to work on that.

Honestly, I’m not trying to imply that I should have been a better neighbor to the lady and gotten to know her.  When it was The Saddest House in The World, my wife and I were largely unaware of what went on there.  Personally, I don’t think we could have helped anyway.

But as I said, I sometimes think of the lady around Christmastime, and look at the pictures of her house.  The pictures remind me of how close someone’s agony and loss can be, and that I am grateful things of this deep darkness have not really touched my life. And more than that, of course, because I am also so grateful for the things I have, meager at times though they may unjustifiably seem. The Saddest House in The World puts things in perspective for me.

And I hope for you too, even just a little.

Brisbane, California–Christmas, 2010

**For panoramic views of the interior of The Saddest House in The World, please go here.