“Stuff is replaceable.”
I've heard and said this many a time over the last few years of slowly getting rid of a lifetime's accumulation of personal possessions. I've been pretty ruthless in purging, throwing out, selling, just plain getting rid of “stuff”.
Today was HARD.
Today has been about a week in preparation, mostly mental. The physical wasn't bad. I had a prelude yesterday when I sold over a thousand dollars worth of furniture for $270. But today, my Mom came and took away some of my precious things, things with memories attached, things that are really, REALLY hard to give up.
A gargoyle, made of cement and heavy as stone; I bought him when I first started the huge project that was the English garden at my cottage. He surveyed the entire 5-year process from his place under the azalea bush next to the steps, and kept me company through the long, pleasant hours of digging, planting, weeding and relaxing. He also watched as the whole house was transformed from ugly duckling to jewel-box cottage, and surveyed the annual installation (and agonizing take-down) of the 40,000 Christmas lights.
A rough chunk of black glass as big as my head, given to me by a dear friend that I haven't seen in years, as a congratulatory present for the success of my business. This piece has adorned every professional office I've ever inhabited.
Two simple wooden handmade bowls, turned from the wood of the pecan tree that used to stand in my backyard. Hurricane Isabel destroyed the tree, which predated my 1937 cottage, and in return for the wood I gave him, the bowls were given to me as a thank you gift from the hands of that same craftsman.
My aunt June paints. She has the lovliest style, and her paintings glow with an inner light, quite similar to that of Kincaid, but she actually stopped painting before he started. I'm proud to own two of her paintings: one, a little fluffy dog, was actually painted for my birth; the other, a beagle that was my uncle Bud's favourite painting, given to me for Christmas just last year.
It was hard to see Mom, and Billy, and to see them taking my memories away. It made it harder still that Jackie hovered, but at least she withdrew when asked so I could have private time with my family. They may not be able to house me, but they love me, and will protect and care for some of my precious memories.
As they drove away with small pieces of my heart, needless to say, there were tears.
As usual, that you for all the support. Sorry that I haven't been updating daily - sometimes I just cannot with the chaos of sorting out the house coupled with the pain of my disability. Thanks to everyone who asked how I was doing, those with words of encouragement, and those who donated. I am so proud to have you as friends.