I don’t wanna…
I really don’t.
Just thinking about it makes me want to crawl under my mink/Sherpa heat blanket and hide from the house…
From the world…
From my friends.
4o years worth of memories…
Some good, some really bad…
40 years worth of objects…
Belongings… Stuff… Junk.
Looking around my home, which isn’t mine, but my Grandfathers,
I feel sad. I feel sick. I feel dread. Anger.
Sad because after 40 years, he never managed to pay his mortgage, and spent most his money on frivolous objects.
Sick to know that soon, if we don’t get off our asses and do something about this impending foreclosure, my 83 year-old, end stage COPD afflicted grandfather just may end up watching the Sheriff empty our house and toss our belongings to the street. Dreading the inevitable “packing” of the house.
Sifting through items that clutter our one furnished basement,
trying to separate my mom’s and my items from
unwanted belongings left by my aunt and uncle
when they moved out and left my ill grandparents up to mom and I.
I. Will. NOT pack up the neglected and left-behind items
of family members who care not of removing them on their own,
or helping to empty this house.
This house is not what it used to be.
40 years of neglect, flooding, and laziness have turned it into an
unhealthy and unsafe place to live.
Cracked foundations lead to leaking…
Leaking pipes turn into mold issues…
I know we need to start the painful and daunting process
of organizing, packing, and cleaning of the house
and the contents it holds.
I don’t want to.
I wish I could pretend it’s not real, that this isn’t going to happen.
Close my eyes, and open them to find everything livable
and tolerable. Clean. Organized. Safe.
I We can’t put it off any longer. It must start. Now.
Must start weeks ago.
Items and objects to be kept must be clean, packed.
Items ruined and broken, thrown away and forgotten.
2 months are a short stint of forever away.
We must be prepared. Ready.
Boxes. Bubble wrap. Arguments. Tears.
A place to go.
Easier said than done.
(I don’t want too)