Mi Casa no Mas
A couple weekends ago, Abby and I were in SLC for the clearing out of the house I grew up in, along with all my siblings. I haven't completely picked myself off the ground since. It was a tough day for obvious reasons: watching stinky strangers rifle through the things you have become accustomed to for 30+ years as part of your family, then having them barter over every penny. It is insulting, but it shouldn't offend, it was a big garage sale after all. Nevertheless, it was exhausting and I had a nervous breakdown in front of my sister and brother (and a bunch of other people) and yelled in their faces, and even though they both forgave me instantly I still feel remorse over the events of that day. It was the culmination of a horrible year of dealing with my Dad being gone and my Mom's physical and emotional constant requirements, and then getting rid of the 80 years worth of stuff that my parents had accumulated was the cherry on top.
There was a big dumpster in our driveway that we just kept hucking stuff in and some of that felt good, cathartic even, but it was hard having it there. Is that what all those years worth of memories come to after all? Garbage?
The day after the sale I left that house where I had lived since I was 3: my only birthday party when I was 8, my first kiss, my first date with my husband, brought my beautiful babies over to see my parents, countless family gatherings, Christmases, birthdays, and other holidays. I knew I would never see it again, the way it exists, as belonging to our family. Someone would gut it and flip it and it's face would completely change, which it needs, but no easier to watch happen.
I stood behind the dumpster full of 80 years of life and cried my eyes out that last day, the day after the sale. I had to hide a little because Abby was nearby and she doesn't deal well with her mother's nervous breakdowns, so it was a quick sobbing session, and then: the house as I knew it was in the rearview mirror forever. The house that our family built. The house that built me.
And oh yeah, we found out over the weekend that my father-in-law has colon cancer. It has spread to his lymph nodes and liver. Not a good year for me and my husband's families when all is said and done.
Sorry to be such a bummer, I just can't seem to pick myself up lately.
There was a big dumpster in our driveway that we just kept hucking stuff in and some of that felt good, cathartic even, but it was hard having it there. Is that what all those years worth of memories come to after all? Garbage?
The day after the sale I left that house where I had lived since I was 3: my only birthday party when I was 8, my first kiss, my first date with my husband, brought my beautiful babies over to see my parents, countless family gatherings, Christmases, birthdays, and other holidays. I knew I would never see it again, the way it exists, as belonging to our family. Someone would gut it and flip it and it's face would completely change, which it needs, but no easier to watch happen.
I stood behind the dumpster full of 80 years of life and cried my eyes out that last day, the day after the sale. I had to hide a little because Abby was nearby and she doesn't deal well with her mother's nervous breakdowns, so it was a quick sobbing session, and then: the house as I knew it was in the rearview mirror forever. The house that our family built. The house that built me.
And oh yeah, we found out over the weekend that my father-in-law has colon cancer. It has spread to his lymph nodes and liver. Not a good year for me and my husband's families when all is said and done.
Sorry to be such a bummer, I just can't seem to pick myself up lately.