"Back There" Is No More

Back There is no more. The house that was home to Mother and Daddy for 30 years is the new home to a 20-Something with sports and rock band posters. Cleaned to a sparkle by The Loyal Helper.

The stuff that made it their home has been sorted, sold, saved & stashed and discarded. The stuff that made it Daughter I’s home that was left behind from her move to The Far Country has been boxed for later retrieval when she lights closer and for a long enough time. The stuff that made it my home has been examined, found wanting and tossed or found essential, and boxed for The Long Move to Here.

Three trailer loads of trash. Papers frayed and yellowed with age. Every card sent to Mother and Daddy when the Youngest Son died as a baby in 1954. Cards sent to Older Son when he lay at death’s door in the Navy. Mother’s every Mother’s Day and birthday card. Pictures of younger selves, forgotten friends, landscapes never named. Receipts, bills, church bulletins, buttons, patterns, moldy damp books gritty with years of neglect and outdoor storage. Course syllabi with scribbled notes. Costume jewelry with missing “sets” or only one earring. Almost 100 pairs of the most elegant high-heeled shoes of very color and pattern every worn—to match the hats and gloves of every color. A box of cufflinks and tie tacks. 

You get the picture—80 years of the stuff of theirs—but not them, not their lives. Just stuff. So because it wasn’t them, tossing became a mindless, ruthless exercise to separate the exquisite wheat from the overwhelming chaff.

Since we became expert tossers, Daughter II encouraged, cajoled, wheedled until much of my stuff I thought was vital to existence as I know it also found its way into the trash heap. I actually threw away stationery—I know, it’s a shock. I kept panic at bay, quelled the urge to hyperventilate as the lovely sheets and envelopes and folders and such went to The Dump. I even gave away and tossed BOOKS. Sacrilege upon sacrilege!

What’s left? Daddy’s sermon outlines. Mother’s real jewels. An original Fiestawear wedding present vase. Silver, china, crystal. Enough to make Martha Stewart envious.

The saved stuff was gone within 4 hours of the movers' arrival. I went to close on the house, and when I returned, the rooms were empty and hollow.

I thought I’d be sad. I thought I’d be depressed. I thought I’d cry. Daughter II asked if the process was cathartic. Nope. It’s just one huge step to finally closing the Estate and, as Big Brother said, “getting on with your life.” I truly don’t feel anything right now. Except bone weary and brain dead. Maybe the Great Unpacking at the my place Here will trigger something. Maybe not.

Maybe I’m grateful for meds. For sure and certain I'm grateful for Friends. Read on….