The speaker remembers how the front door was once the family’s place for goodbyes, especially when someone set off for the north. One person made that journey and never returned. For years, the family waited — especially one person who longed to see him again. In the end, she was carried out through the same front door after her death. After that, the family stopped using it for partings and began saying goodbye at another door.
There is a quiet, restrained sorrow here. The speaker doesn’t describe weeping or dramatic grief, but the change in routine says everything: the front door has become a threshold tied to loss and bad luck. The mood is subdued and a little haunting, as if the house itself holds the memory of someone who left and never came home.