Home

May 04, 2009 21:19

I'm flying back to Ohio on Thursday for a long weekend of sorting through Dad's house with my sister and brother. A big part of me would rather have a root canal and a testicle removed than do this. A much smaller part was tempted to just say "fuck it" and hide behind the 2,600-mile distance, but I couldn't do that, especially since my sister is a single mother and working nurse pursuing a master's degree. Executor of the will, too, so she has to manage all of Dad's bills.

I wouldn't go so far as to call Dad a pack rat. There aren't stacks of old newspapers in the garage or anything, but he sure didn't throw out anything he thought he could use. All four bedrooms have beds, mattresses, linens, desks, dressers, night stands, and clothes in the closets. There's a utility barn with old car parts in it, and I don't even want to think about the basement.

We're renting a fifteen-foot dumpster.

The drudgery's worsened by the reality that we're preparing to say goodbye to the house we grew up in, and, of course, the reason we're doing it. I hope his shoes aren't still in the foyer. That kills. That, and the silence that greets me when I walk through the front door.

My aunt looked horrified when we told her we wanted to stay at the house six weeks ago, but we didn't feel weird about it at all. It's home.

dad

Previous post Next post
Up