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Saying goodbye has never come easily for me. I can be ridiculously sentimental and teary-eyed when it comes to goodbyes, even when there’s an occasion for a happy parting of the ways.

Sometimes, to spare myself and others the embarrassment of the tearful adieus, I forego the farewells, which I almost did a few weeks ago when we were invited to a little goodbye party for the owner and staff of Seitz-Agin Hardware, a wonderful little neighborhood store I have been frequenting since I was five years old.

Now you may be wondering why a woman who doesn’t know the difference between a brad and a nail would be getting all misty-eyed about the final curtain for a local hardware store. And I’ll tell you why: Seitz-Agin is so much more than a hardware store. It is a symbol of love and kindness in our community, a place where people truly care.

It is also a place where memories are made. I can still remember the many times I tagged along with my Dad to Seitz-Agin, decades ago, in search of some elusive fastener (was it a nail or a brad?) for some long-forgotten home improvement project. Though my Dad’s handyman skills sadly never rubbed off on me, I always loved spending time with him.  And since he loved hanging out at hardware stores, in general, and Seitz-Agin, in particular, I could often be found strolling the aisles, with my Dad by my side.

Last month, when I first read that Seitz-Agin was closing, I literally gasped. I couldn’t believe it. And yet I could. I’d felt that uh-oh feeling in my belly more than a few times this past year when I’d headed over to the hardware store in search of items I knew they always carried and the shelves had grown suspiciously sparse.

First it was the contractor bags we had been using to clear out my Mom’s house, after she passed away last summer. Then, it was the Old English Furniture Polish that I planned to use to polish her furniture, which we were selling in an estate sale. Then one day, I heard the manager talking to a couple customers about how the hardware store had been in business since 1955, and wasn’t it a shame … I was too scared to ask what he had been talking about when I exchanged money with him that day.

Or maybe I already knew. But didn’t want to admit it. Because when I read the article, I can’t say I was surprised. I was just no longer bobbing happily in the sea of denial, no longer wondering dreamily where we would be without Seitz-Agin, no longer gushing about how grateful we were to have this wonderful resource minutes away from where we live.

As we have muddled our way through the past year, decluttering my Mom’s home inch by inch, clearing out what was our childhood home of all possessions and preparing it to be sold, my affection for this store has only grown.

Because Seitz-Agin isn’t just a place where you show up, find what you need, slap down your money and be gone. It’s a place where they take time to talk to you and joke with you and care.

Then there is the owner, Joel, with his trademark wit. Dry as sandpaper sometimes, but a welcome relief from the drama of what has been my life for the past couple years in dealing with the slow passing of my Mom and my father-in-law and the settlement of my Mom’s estate.

I will never forget this one day when my husband and I stumbled into Seitz-Agin, looking, I’m sure, particularly gloomy with the prospect of cleaning my Mom’s house, which was in a state of total disarray. As we wordlessly slapped down a package of contractors’ garbage bags on the counter and held up a couple of pails and mops, a smile broke across Joel’s face. “Have fun, you two,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “If that’s possible, given what you’re going to do today.” He gestured toward our items. We all laughed and laughed, and when we left, I for one, felt immeasurably lighter. That is the thing about Joel. No matter how grouchy you’re feeling, no matter how blue, Joel always brings a smile.

And so it was on that day in early June, when we came to pay our respects to Joel and his wonderful staff for the last time. As I strolled the aisles of the hardware store one last time with my husband, tears crept into my eyes and I tried to wipe them away. But it was no use. A Kleenex can only do so much.

A few aisles down, there was Joel, with his twinkling eyes, giving me a hug and shaking my husband’s hand, thanking us for being there all those years. Then it was our turn to thank him, to tell him how much we appreciated his steady presence and quirky sense of humor and the way he truly cared for customers.

We told him how sorry we were that he couldn’t continue on, how sorry we were that the recession had done him in. But Joel, the beacon of equanimity, told us that he was choosing to focus not on what was causing him to go out of business, but on the 38 years he had been privileged to be there for customers like us, and the way the community had supported him all those years. “I am focusing on all this,” he said, sweeping his arms around, toward all the loyal customers strolling the aisles, who had turned out to wish him well. “This is what it’s all about. And this is what I’ll remember.”

As I write this column, tears (of course) are streaming down my cheeks –  tears of gratitude and tears of sadness, and tears for the passing of my Mom and Dad and Seitz-Agin.

Farewell Seitz-Agin, Farewell old friend, and thank you for the memories …

Do you have trouble saying goodbye? I’d love to hear what you have to say. Please leave a comment, here on ShareWIK.com

Ellen Brown is a certified professional coach, based in Cleveland, OH, and a regular columnist on ShareWIK.com.  Visit her website at http://ellen-brown.com. 

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