Restoration
What a strange week this has been: some great blessings mixed among the hardships. I don't have to stop and make myself think in order to see them; they are clearly evident.
My apartment flood hit remarkably few valuable and precious things. This seems almost miraculous. Several years ago Sylvie gave me a small replica of Van Gogh's Sunflowers, which she had painted. This was sitting right in the middle of the deluge pouring through the living room ceiling. It is painted on one of those particle canvas boards and would have been destroyed if it had become wet. I had set it on a little wooden display easel from IKEA. The water hit the sloped oil paint surface and ran off. The underlying canvas did not get damp and the painting wasn't even slightly damaged.
Most of what was destroyed was junk. The couch was too big for my apartment, and I had wanted to get rid of it for years. Sure, it came from Dad's mother's house, but I still have her China hutch, which is compact and useful. I took the opportunity and the availability of Craig's pickup to get rid of practically every broken and useless thing around my apartment. It was a huge job, something I might never have found the gumption to do except under the force of emergency and adrenalin. By the end of that day my grief over what had been lost was far more than balanced by relief of the burden of what had been gotten rid of.
The visit with my parents was mostly enjoyable, in fact we had some remarkable and unexpected conversations. Niether Mom nor Dad want traditional funerals, which comes as a relief to me. I can't think of anything worse than being forced to stand in line and greet people I haven't seen in decades, who believe they're doing the family a favour by attending. Dad says funerals are barbaric. Mom asked me to go down and spend some time with him when the time comes, which I am willing to do. Sometime later, when he is ready, we will hold gatherings for family and friends at home and the cottage. We even discussed the distant future, when Dad might have the opportunity to attend concerts and travel together with me. It turns out we're both looking forward to that.
Most surprising of all was the revelation that Mom has become comfortable about my gayness to the point that she discusses my life frankly with her friends the same way she way she talks about all the family. So it turns out that quite a few more people know I am gay than I had realized. This is a stark contrast to her previous attitude of keeping it secret, or of allowing me to tell people but refusing to stand by me. She has never apologized or cleared the air about her past homophobia, so as far as I knew she had not changed and never would. I had accepted that and forgiven her, because during her illness I wanted to love and support her without resentment. Now it turns out I was mistaken. The disillusionment is wonderful and overwhelming. She explained that my divorce was one of the hardest things she ever experienced, and that she has learned a lot since then.
I have also inherited a little money from her mother, who died three summers ago. All the estate went to Nana's five surviving children. At the time, Mom says, she wanted to pass something along to her three sons and couldn't afford to, but circumstances have changed. This money could go to many practical uses, but instead I'm going to buy what I might never be able to afford: two or three original works form local artists I've long admired.
Returning to Guelph yesterday afternoon, I stopped at the apartment to find the carpet and ceilings ripped out. I took a few photos. Today workers are replacing the ceiling, and carpets will go in on Friday, so I'll spend the weekend resettling.
The good things are almost as exhausting as the bad. So many surprises, so many changes. Yesterday I felt close to blacking out, so I took an extra day off work today. Tomorrow I'll go back to racking organ pipes in Fergus.
