“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.
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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.
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