It’s not easy, packing up everything on my own. Thankfully, I’m only sorting. I can donate and sell, or save for family, but I’ll be taking very, very little. I’m not moving anything, which is fantastically liberating. Currently, the only thing I’ve “moved” was a chair, which I drove to my uncle’s house last week.
But while it’s liberating, it’s also scary as fuck. I’m sorting things all the time, wondering if it’s something I should put aside and ask him about. With some things, I make the executive decision: that’s not coming. I’m didn’t keep the yearbooks, or the books we forgot about. I don’t need six baking sheets, or that weird “all edges” brownie pan. His rubber duck collection was thrown right in the bin last week with no attempt to go through it. If I could have pulled it out, one entire drawer would have been dumped into the trash; no, we’re not keeping the collection of Doctor Who sonic screwdrivers.
There’s also the worry: did I get rid of something I shouldn’t have? I mean, it’s going to happen. And it’s come up. Now that the majority of the clothes are gone, as well as half of the collectibles, what remains are are special, milestone-type things. I started asking him last night about them. “What pictures do you want?”
“All the photos on my end table, and the big one in The Pink Room, and…”
“Don’t worry about the family photos,” I told him. “They’ll be coming. I’m talking about the things on the walls, the big print you mentioned, the other Canadian prints, etc.”
“Let me think about it.”
This afternoon, he called and brought them up again. “Try to take the big print out of the frame, we’ll deal with it later. Maybe take the Haida hummingbird print we bought for Nanny. We’ll make more pictures.”
What I didn’t expect him to get upset about? Our race medals. Neither of us was fast or competitive, but I guess they mean something to him, and he asked me to save them. They’re small enough, I’ll find a way to keep them.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “Um… what about your Freemason certificate?”
It wasn’t a question I wanted to ask, because I know it’s a touchy subject for him. As expected, he wants to keep the certificate, along with a Masonic apron that may or may not have already been thrown out. I knew he’d be upset, but I was honest about it, and explained he’d told me before he didn’t think he wanted to keep any of those things.
Unfortunately, every batch of questions makes has him pretty much in tears. He’s either worked up because he feels like he should be here to help me, or he’s sad because my questions just make everything more real to him. Like, every time I ask something just further nails in the point that SHIT’S GETTING REAL.
Right now, the biggest question I come up with, what if I need something later? I don’t know when I’ll be leaving, so I’m in this weird Limbo. Keeping the winter clothing is a given, but how much stuff should I save for the summer? Will I be here all summer? Will I be here next summer? I don’t want to get rid of our dishes, my Mom wants to come up and I’d feel bad making her eat off my plastic kids’ dishes with the separated food compartments. Getting rid of most of the pans is a no-go for the same reason – I need to cook.
I can’t wait until we know what’s happening.
