I am finding the job of cleaning closets and cupboards to be more difficult than first imagined. Though Mom knows that the job must be done, she has a tough time actually seeing it accomplished. She says she feels like a "displaced person". I suppose that is somewhat how Dave and Leta are feeling also. In a few month's time they have gone from living in their own home to a small basement apartment to two rooms at Mom's. We are simply attempting to make room for them by cleaning out a few closets and a large back room cabinet.
We've purchased some banker's boxes and what is taken out of drawers and off of shelves is packed away and taken to the attic room. We've thrown out nothing but empty boxes, containers, and little nothings. We've taken home precious little, maybe a shirt or two, a harmonica, or a file of Bible study note cards. Dad's boots stand near an old table, his instruments grace the walls, and his diaries and drawings are tucked safely away.
Maybe the reality is slowly sinking in. Maybe Mom has managed to put all of this out of her mind until now. Maybe I really don't have any clue... I find it hard to know what to do or how to comfort my mom. I am quite certain life will eventually settle into a new routine, but until then we will be groping our way through. Then again, maybe if I grab hold of the Hand that is bigger than mine, He will lead the way... In the meantime Dad has left us plenty of things to smile at.
I am finding the job of cleaning closets and cupboards to be more difficult than first imagined. Though Mom knows that the job must be done, she has a tough time actually seeing it accomplished. She says she feels like a "displaced person". I suppose that is somewhat how Dave and Leta are feeling also. In a few month's time they have gone from living in their own home to a small basement apartment to two rooms at Mom's. We are simply attempting to make room for them by cleaning out a few closets and a large back room cabinet.
We've purchased some banker's boxes and what is taken out of drawers and off of shelves is packed away and taken to the attic room. We've thrown out nothing but empty boxes, containers, and little nothings. We've taken home precious little, maybe a shirt or two, a harmonica, or a file of Bible study note cards. Dad's boots stand near an old table, his instruments grace the walls, and his diaries and drawings are tucked safely away.
Maybe the reality is slowly sinking in. Maybe Mom has managed to put all of this out of her mind until now. Maybe I really don't have any clue... I find it hard to know what to do or how to comfort my mom. I am quite certain life will eventually settle into a new routine, but until then we will be groping our way through. Then again, maybe if I grab hold of the Hand that is bigger than mine, He will lead the way... In the meantime Dad has left us plenty of things to smile at.
I always loved his drawings! I wish I had him draw with Alicia. She would have liked that. She is following in the steps of many in our family...imaginative and artistic!
ReplyDeleteMartha, the hardest part of letting go is acceptance. Getting rid of stuff, packing it away is tough. Be gentle with your mom and yourself,
ReplyDeleteThese photos bring to mind a very vague memory of a story where a small somebody slipped into a river and got washed away, following the current down the river. A real memory or not, I do not know. Anyone remember a similar story?
ReplyDeleteYou weren't thinking of "Big Bad Bruce" were you, Bethany? That witch turned him into a teeny, tiny bear and he fell in the river.
ReplyDeleteIt is tough to know just how much to do, but I know that she wants Dave and Leta there with her, and so some cleaning has got to be done to make room. I just keep assuring mom that the stuff we are cleaning out will be right upstairs, not gone. The drawings are awesome!
ReplyDeleteBethany, I don't remember that story. Did grandpa tell it to you?
His drawings are so much fun, no one could follow in his steps. Just like no one could follow in my dad's. He told the most wonderful stories to T. and me. Rufus the mouse who was an alcoholic who had a cry-baby cousin and Quack the duck who was a braggart and was always in trouble as a tour guide for other birds.
ReplyDelete