Getting there.....

Well...the photo is a little fuzzy...but that's the inside of my PODS unit on the driveway.  21 days into this work of going through all the boxes in my garage from my parents.....and I'm down to about 30 smallish boxes.  The miracle of actually getting through a whole PODS of stuff was not lost on the universe....since the low hanging sun of winter even shined in the unit last night.  

I feel a sense of accomplishment and order....I've given away lots to Goodwill...threw some stuff out....and sorted things for garage sale and selling online.  Last night....I opened a box of beautiful vintage blazers and a few dresses from my mom.  They were gorgeous and as you would expect of classic quality clothes...have held up well even in storage.  I know nothing about selling things online but will start next fall.  As I patted the sleeve of one blazer with amazing buttons and crisp pipping...I thought of how happy some woman might be to own such a fashionable quality item...at least that is what I'm thinking right now.

Funny, in my life....my mother was always dominant...she did the finances....she was uncontested leader of the family....and architect of our life. But as I go through this boxes with so many many interesting things....collectables...vintage items....antiques....it was my father that saved all of this.  I have virtually nothing from my mother....she destroyed her own records so I wouldn't find out her real age...there are no school photos...diplomas...no paper trail.  Everything in these boxes are items my dad found interesting and I did too....because I saved them from the Estate Sale.  Sometimes, I scold myself and say...."You should have let them sell this"...but most of these things that are left are what I have found unique from their life too....and hope to pass on to the kids and even to the other folks once I learn how to do that.

Interesting....the only papers I have found are in my dad's collections of papers...in the hundreds of binders he kept with news articles and magazine photography ....stuck somewhere in the binder I have come across prizes...my grandparents marriage license....pictures of my parents wedding....or the personal papers of my dad.  I have often wondered why he hid such interesting papers, documents and photos in these binders of articles.  If you don't search these binders page by page you would never find them!

Yesterday as I found an interesting note from my grandfather to a tenant.... and the thought suddenly hit me... was he actually hiding these artifacts from my mother?  She was known to go through stuff and toss everything away...she thought everything old was "junk".  Consequently...I have no documents from my maternal grandparents...no legal documents...no business documents...nothing.  Whereas my dad, squirreled away hundreds of things.  I wondered if he hid these documents in his binders because my mother wouldn't find them there...she wouldn't be able to tear them up and toss them out.  

Of course the risk for dad, was that maybe I wouldn't find them either (I'm an only child so there was no one else to discover them).  Perhaps he planned to tell me they were there at a later time.  Of course, when he had his stroke, he couldn't talk or write....and he was soo soo frustrated.  He tried so hard to talk to me...sometimes I look back and wonder if he wanted to tell me where all this stuff was....if he wanted to tell me to search through each binder for papers and family mementos....look through the napkins on the bar for the cash he hid....look underneath the stairs in the crawl space to find some silver coins.  I didn't know these things when I started dismantling their house...but I quickly learned ...that dad had obviously hidden things away from my mother...and I learned to search every nook and cranny of the house as well as innocuous things like his stash of innocent binders.  

I guess that's why this process has taken so long....my dad hid things and the times it takes for discovery is huge. 

Plan B

This weekend.....I broke down and cried.

My house has been taken over by my parents' things...boxes...furniture....papers... that I still need to go through and either save, donate or sell.

Although it took me a year to sell the house from the date of their deaths.....a year is not a lot of time to deal with their 80 plus years of accumulation.....when you are dealing with two people who were organized mini-hoarders.

When you layer this with the fact that I need new carpeting...need to repair a wall....need to paint a wall or two....and I can't get at my needs because of their stuff.....it's real nerve racking.

So I decided there were only two options....move all their stuff out of my house into a storage unit where I could pluck a few boxes a week and work on them....thus clearing my house so I can clean and do maintenance or put things in the garage. My hub didn't like the idea of moving trucks and hauling things far off....so he offered to help me start loading things up in our garage. We swept and cleaned and tidied the numerous boxes there....then started hauling stuff off....only keeping photos and materials that would be sensitive to heat in the house.

I can see progress already....and when I peered into some of the boxes I was stunned with some of the stuff I saved.....a box of "good" rags??? I guess I wasn't thinking too clearly.

Today....for the rest of the day....I'm going to continue to haul out stuff....and free our house from all the boxes. When this is done....I'll do our normal cleaning and repair work....then tackle things bit by bit.

Sometimes I am confused as to whether or not I'm "wasting" my time and life on stuff.

It's a bad feeling.

I'm hoping when the "stuff" is cleared out....life will feel better and the task of editing my parent's things won't be so overwhelming.

Sometimes and some days...I just want to donate everything and be done with it....but there is a part of me....perhaps because I am an only child.....which looks upon this stuff as a responsibility.
My parents....my maternal and paternal grandparents.....all their memories and all the things that made them who they are.....rest on my shoulders. If I don't organize the pictures....if I don't write the stories.....if I don't cull the junk from the true keepsakes....no body else will. Many people...many generations of families have died without leaving a trace....I suppose that is an option too....why hold so strongly on pretending that their lives were so important in the scheme of life?

I don't know how to answer that question....they and me .....we're just ordinary folks....what does it matter if our memories and who we are .....are preserved?

Perhaps the yearning for meaning....for a sense that all of this ....the breathing in and breathing out was worth something.

All I know right now...is for the next couple of hours...I will cull, discard, and repack stuff up and move it....and I will probably have to commit to one more year of work.....to get all this generational stuff organized.

I hope it was a good use of time, of life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At Rest

I am home and so are my parents.

I took their ashes back to Chicago.

My whole family plus some friends were there.....to say good-bye.

I hope I did the right things.

I hope my parents would be pleased.

The containers, the ashes....they didn't give me any signals so all I could do is create something that the survivors, the people who knew and loved them, would feel good about.

In a couple of months.....I will head back one more time to Chicago and check their headstones and carvings.

In the Lithuanian cemetery, where my father is buried, I will plant some Hostas and day lilies. Hostas my dad dug up from his own garden and transported down here to the south. Hostas that will now make the return journey back north to stay with him.

My mother's austere cemetery won't allow plantings or flowers.....so I will only bring shears to cute the grass away from her family's headstones.....and a small stone to lay on the granite so she knows I was there.

On the drive back south, I wondered if I should have kept my parents' ashes with me.....as I already felt an emptiness....a lack of them....as I headed back home. But Chicago is where they lived and loved and made their life so I guessed that would be the best place for them.

Still....today....I wondered.....the house ...my house is filled with their stuff but not them....and I'm not completely sure that is right.

Startled to see a deer and fawn so close to us....it was a very unambiguous message though.

One absolutely completely terrible moment.

I have been sick for the last day and a half.

I tossed so hard in my bed last night my hips still hurt.

I thought I lost my mother.

Soon I will be returning my parents' ashes to Chicago.

I decided on Saturday to check everything. Make sure I have all the forms and papers I need. Cemeteries have a lot of rules and I would hate to discover some last minute glitch.

Each box of ashes came with a certificate verifying who was in the urn.

I knew I had the certificates but for about 10 minutes I forgot where I put them for safekeeping.

My hub checked the urn and found in each container a tag with a number that matches the certificate.

To help me.....he wrote down my mom and dad's number so when I was sifting through the papers I could easily spot the forms.

I found my mom's certificate but my husband blanched when I showed him the papers.....my mom's numbers didn't match.

Either I had some one's ashes or the certificate was wrong.

I crumpled over.

Oh God what if there has been a mix up? A year later...my mother's ashes could be anywhere....scattered over a farm.....in a grave.....under some one's couch.

There was absolutely nothing to do but wait till Monday morning when the offices of the funeral home opened....either there was a typo or my mother's remains had been mixed up.

I tried not to think about it.......I kept busy.....I forced myself to do small necessary tasks that would keep my mind off my worries. But all the time inside.....I kept thinking to myself.....oh please God let it be a typo. What would we do if it wasn't? What if she was scattered some place? How could I possibly make this right?

Monday morning my hub immediately placed the phone call.

He had them repeat the number to us.....so there couldn't be any possibility of them covering up the mistake if there was one.

He called.

"It's okay.....everything is fine."

I sank into the couch and I could feel my heart beat....as if it was still on an adrenalin high.

The possibilities were so horrible.....I still have mini flashbacks.....as if my mind still can't purge the bad data......

This evening......I checked the urn in it's pretty blue velvet covering. She was there...Mom was there....and soon she and dad would be going home....together.

The Holy Card

I'm returning my parents' ashes to Chicago soon.....finally, a year after their death....I can take them back home to their final resting place.

I don't know how people make funeral arrangements in the grip of grief....even save....I have found it frustrating and difficult too make all the necessary phone calls and jump through all the hoops one must go through to bury a person--Christian burial permits, memorial service arrangements, purchasing vaults and urns that meet the specifications of two different cemeteries.

A couple days ago I remembered how much my mother liked Holy Cards and decided to make arrangements for a card for them. Holy cards, now called Prayer cards, are part of the Catholic burial ceremony. They are miniature portraits or scenes with Jesus, Mary or the Saints printed on a small card. The portrait/scene is on front of the card whereas the back listed the name, birthday and death of the person plus a prayer. They are handed out by family members either at mass or the funeral home or tucked into a card for friends and relatives who can not attend the service.

As a child, I was fascinated with these small intricate artistic cards.

The scenes could be delightful....St. Frances walking through a forest with little furry animals gazing up at him....Disney-gone-Catholic.......or Mary, young and sweet, listening to a tall winged angel whispering her fate.

But many of the cards were gory....saints burning at the stake, pierced by arrows, or bleeding from stigmata....replicas of the crucifixion wounds of Jesus. These cards turned me into a detective searching the faces and the bodies of these saints ... looking for signs of humaneness... a hint of pain or doubt or worry. I never found any...their small hands always rested with grace and satisfaction on their wounds....their glazed eyes always gazed unwavering towards heaven.

Apparently, you can now go online and print a sheet of holy cards and then cut or tear them apart for distribution. I saw a few of these cards in the office of the funeral home and disliked them. The poor picture quality and the rough edges from imperfect perforation made some of them look cheap. So I decided to go online and purchase professionally printed cards.

I flipped from one website to another....searching searching for a picture but after scanning hundreds of cards....I felt uneasy and anxious. The beatific faces without emotions now bothered me....anything with blood or swords or wounds made me cringe. I wanted welcoming faces not dispassionate faces....I wanted peace from suffering not bleeding hearts....I was looking for a saint or angel or a god who smiled...who seemed welcoming of my parents ... not indifferent.

Ozzie the Wonder Dog came into my study and poked his scabby nose at me....I didn't know if he wanted to go out or he was just being "emo" and sensing my feelings. We headed out to the back porch and I rocked in the humid heat for a while. I recently added a mezuzah on to the door frame of my backdoor....the little capsule that contains the "Shema" the central prayer of the Jewish faith. I absentmindedly stared at the mezuzah for awhile....when I realized that since this is where my heart and identity is now....perhaps I would find some guidance here.

I took out my prayerbook and read over the prayers until I found one that I really liked....peaceful......respectful......I tinkered with it ...added.... subtracted...and finally created something I felt my parent's would like and be proud of.

I went back to the computer and now tried to match the prayer to an image.

I found a sturdy broad shouldered Jesus. He looked like he might smile. He had a small lamb slung around his shoulders...a sign of gentleness and protectiveness....and although he had two wounds in his hands....I did not feel the wounds...the suffering...was the central theme of this image.....but a nod to reality.

My parent died peacefully.... but they had their wounds too....my dad's paralyzed leg and arm....my mom's body swollen from her failing heart.

I hit the "order button" and felt satisfied.

A day or two ago I would have never ever considered posting this Holy Card on my blog.....but I woke up today....and realized it was a prayer....and it is truly from my heart.....and reflects my hopes for my parents......and in the land of blogs and face book and a zillion words on the net....maybe being brave and posting something personal and honest is not something to be afraid of....

One of those weeks....

It's really hard to write anything this week.

Crummy week.

Looks like the bid on my parent's house is falling through....second bid...second falling.

Will probably have to drive up to Chicago next weekend and take care of some minor repairs on the house....get someone to cut the grass.... someone to fix a window.

Just hate the thought of driving up north...and being in my parent's house again. Sleeping on the couch and having all those memories crowd me in the empty living room.

This week is the first anniversary of their deaths.

I had flashbacks of my mom's last hours....all weekend. The way her mouth was open and the particular way her jaw jutted forward as her breathing became labored.

My dad....I miss him.

I wish I could talk to him...tell him a few things.

How his DNA results came back just a day after his death and showed he has a strong Mongolian/Siberian background. Oh ....he would have found that fascinating.

How I solved the mystery of the basement leak. Here's my dad...wondering for years why there was a water problem there....and I found a spot under the outdoor rug.....where an unscrupulous worker ...didn't re-cement a work area after the cable was fixed.

And then there's my house still looking like a warehouse and me....not having the energy or desire to even peer inside those boxes.

"Change your thoughts and you change your world."

Yeah ...I'll try that tomorrow.

planted and potted

It was so simple and yet such a joyous thing to do.

.

I planted a tree in a pot and placed it near my front door.

.

I planted it as the day was ending, the light fading into pink, the damp from the lawn beginning to rise.....the yellow of the porch light taking over.

.

I didn't plant anything last year....when my parents were ill and dying.

.

So it felt magical....and sensual....the mulchy smell, the softness of potting soil, the pricks from the holly leaves.

.

Life finally returns to our house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching.....

I have watched this day arrive as if it was an approaching storm on the horizon.

The dread....the sense of danger .......even some fear.

One year ago today....my father had a massive stroke.

In 74 days he would be dead.....in 67 days ...my mother would be dead.

I remember the time leading up to the news....in almost perfect detail.

The uneasy anxious feeling I had when I woke up.

Arriving late at work.

Norm, one of the employees, dropping by my office to say, "Your husband is trying to find you."

I remember how the news of my dad's stroke sounded new but very old.

The fear that something catastrophic would happen to one of my parent's has been sitting inside me and waiting for years.

I remember walking into the book store's office and saying to Jim...in a flat voice. "My father's had a stroke....I have to leave."

I tidied my desk and straightened my chair, knowing I would never sit there again to work.

The plane ride, the calls to people, the messages to the kids....and then the hospital.

Quiet and dark....close to midnight.....the ICU doors swinging open to my fate.

Where is he? Where is he?

There.

There.

Dad. Dad.

I'm here.

I grabbed his hand and kissed him on the forehead.

His eyes opened. His eyebrows arched in surprise. His blue eyes had a bit of twinkle.

Dad. Dad. Dad.

He tried to speak but couldn't. He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed me.

For 74 days we would do this over and over again.

Dad. Dad....I would plead.....and he would grab my hand and kiss me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crunch time

I'm sitting here being crunchy.

My parent's house which I am selling in Chicago is supposed to close next Friday.

Supposed to....

I know the real estate market...is crunchy too....we've all read at least 1085 stories about the problems of the market...but I was kinda hoping my process would go smoothly.

I'm supposed to leave Saturday to empty the house...but when I emailed the agent yesterday and asked her if the appraisal has come in (if it doesn't match the selling price ...the deal/contract is mostly like doomed)....she didn't return my email till midnight. Each hour that passed by made me more and more certain something was wrong.

Ah....and so at 12:25 am (why is my agent answering my 8:30am email at this hour?) I discover the appraisal has not been done on the house.

Unless there's some magic in the universe....I'm thinking there's no way the house can close next week and now I'm uncertain if we even have a deal since the sellers seem very slow/apathetic/disorganized for a group of people who wanted to move into the house in 7 days.

I mean....shouldn't they be on pins and needles too...hoping this document clears the way for the loan to go through??? Shouldn't they have been bugging their agent about the process?

I am just minutes away from becoming a raving raging BITCH....I've got to calm down....if I tear into the agent when she returns my call ...(and she better call soon)....all I'm going to do is make the situation sticky with my anger.

I've been trying to think positive....or...at least neutral...... I 've pulled up my secret Jiminy Cricket this always makes you feel better song.......I listen.........I smile.....I recieve 10 minutes of positive vibes and then like the tide...I feel the grrrrrrrrrrrrr just rising in me.

I know eventually things will work out...but I want this specific eventually to happen next Friday or possibly the next Friday.

That's when I want my eventually.....unfortunately I've got to wait and listen to when the Universe wants that eventually to arrive....

Universe....could we do some negogiating?????

In case anyone else feels CRUNCHY.....I proffer my Jiminy Cricket to you.

Surprise surprise

Oh my gosh...I just signed a contract to sell my parent's house!!!

Vacate by the end of January.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perfect fall day

It is a perfect southern fall day.

Luscious.

Warm.

Blue.

Green. Red. Yellow. Brown.

Crispy, soft.

Lazy.

I slept in till 8:30.....then lingered.....warm and content in my bed.

I drank a mug of strong coffee and headed out the door...not to work or do errands...but for a walk.

When I returned, I sat on my dad's old bench, now in our driveway, drenched in sunlight. The rough dark red wooden boards radiated heat.

I took off my sweatshirt....then my t-shirt....and laid back on the tough wood in my sports bra ...feeling the sun in unfamiliar places....my chest....my midsection.....under my arms.

I feel like I've emerged from a pool of pain and anguish.

So much and so many tears.......such a long long year.

Perhaps I will mimic mother nature....shed......go dormant....conserve my energy...and begin dreaming of a new life.... a new start in spring.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Home

I am home.

I am happy to be home.

I am happy to sleep in my own bed

and stumble over all my own stuff.

I am home.

I am happy to be home.

The Good Daughter

I thought when my parent's died I said goodbye.

I was there....I kissed them....through a river of tears I said goodbye.

But it is 9 months later....and I am still saying goodbye.

Goodbye to mom's red leather boots, to dad's tools, to mom's coats, to a hundred cardboard boxes dad stored just in case he needed one, to old pens, to a tattered towel, a crumpled Kleenex in a suit pocket....on and on it goes.

In a few hours, I'll sign papers to set in motion the big goodbye....to their house where they lived for 40 years. In this real estate market the house probably isn't going to change hands quickly, but the signature on the paper starts the tear that will break the bond...no matter how long it takes.

The house looks good. The kitchen/family room...actually beautiful.

Yesterday, another person told me I should have just sold the house "as is".....but I wonder if I needed to fix and repair this house to erase the guilt I felt.

My parents were so sick and they died so quickly....they were each in hospice only days before the end....and I as their only child....inherited everything... their money, their possessions ...their house.

Perhaps in some way....I needed to work on this house....I needed to clean and repair and break down at the end of the 14 hour workd day in exhaustion to be able to accept what they left to me.

People take care of aging parents for years and I intensely took care of my parents for three months.

Since I couldn't show them how hard I would have worked for them...or how dedicated I would have been to them no matter how long they both lived after dad's stroke....I poured my energy and my heart into what was left of them....their house...and though their possessions are dispersed....the house remains.....the garage door is painted....the house numbers are new...the new wood floor shines...the cracks are fixed, the shed is painted.

What I couldn't do for them....I did for the house....something they loved and cherished.

People will go through this house and nod at the cleanliness....the tidiness....the modernization. They will nod mentally to the former owners who kept the house in such good shape. They will nod to my parents for their good taste even though they don't know them.

And tomorrow I will nod too....as I head home....I have made the home they loved beautiful again....and maybe the work won't pay off in dollars...but it will pay off a debt I owe to them.

I wanted to be the good daughter. Now I am.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moses calling.....

"Is this Gina?"

"Yes."

"This is Moses. I have your wood."

"Moses?"

"Moses from the Floor Store."

"Oh, thank heavens!"

And just like that I was freed....and without a single plague.

The only thing keeping me here in Chicago.....was the floor.

Thanks to Moses....I've got wood ....and tomorrow morning the installation team arrives to set it in place.

Then I'm free....I sign the contract to sell my parent's house on Wednesday....I pack my belongings ...and head home.

Of course I'm not entirely free....I'll visit Chicago every month to check the house till its sold.....there's clothes to donate and sort through.....but for the most part....the house is finished.

This evening I visited a friend....and the first thing she asked me was "What are you going to do now with your life?"

"I...I...I..." I didn't know what to say.

I know there's a mountain of boxes at home to unpack.....receipts to go through...pictures to scan....but there is also the unfamiliar.....the idea that I won't have to spend every day and most of my waking hours on my parent's affairs..... I can actually think about me.

It's strange....it's been 9 months since dad had his stroke...the same length of time as an average pregnancy.....mom carried me for 9 months.....and now I've returned the favor and carried them to the end of their life over the same length of time.

Exodus....Me and Ozzie the Wonder Dog in 48 hours.

"This is an easy one....no plagues....no threats....just 600 square feet of Brazilian Cherry."

Good bye Diva Kitty

She looked scared.

My mom's diva kitty.....princess of the known universe.....dominatrix over other cats....looked small and confused in the volunteer's arms.

Despite many attempts to find someone to adopt her, I couldn't find anyone to take her. So I brought her to the Humane Society today. She was terrorizing my old cat so much Old Kitty became anorexic and is now on anti-depressants and she was chasing my mom's other cat we adopted. Our hallways reverberated with hissing and cat songs all day long.

So I brought her back to Chicago in hopes they could find her a good home. She had, of course, been angelic the last two days. 15 minutes into the trip to Chicago, she figured out how to pull the zipper back on the cat carrier and was loose in the car. She rode shotgun for the next 9 hours....occasionally jumping over the passenger seat to sit next to Ozzie the Wonder Dog in the backseat. Once we arrived at my parent's house, she followed me around....and with no one to chase ....she was charming. But she can't stay here.....and she can't be at our house....so I felt backed up against the wall.

I was already in tears when I reached the front door. A policeman...about 6'4" and about as wide....held open the door with one hand and cradled a tiny orange and white tabby kitten in the other.

"They're good people here," he said...obviously seeing my tears.

"There's even hope for this one." The little squinty-eye kitty cried pathetically.

The "Intake" volunteer was kind and assured me Diva Kitty was very adoptable. Declawed, cute and healthy looking.....she had the air of a cat who had been loved and taken care of......rather than a stray.

They asked for a 30.00 donation and I added more to the check in memory of my parents.

"Do you want me to send an acknowledgement to them?"

"No, they are...........gone."

Floodgate open.

I cried into my hand while waiting for the last paper to sign.

Sometimes when I give away their things....I like going through their death again........giving the cat away....watching some of their beloved belongings leave the house and get stuffed into a stranger's van......or even receiving some of their junk mail. "Peter you're almost running out of time to renew your subscriptions."

Running out of time. Peter already ran out of time as did Irene.

Despite a long to-do list.....when I came back to the house....I reopened the sofa bed....climbed in and put all the covers on top of me and cocooned.

The dark and warm was soothing again the bite of lonliness that gnawed on me.

Eventually Ozzie the Wonder Dog poked his nose at the blankets and when I didn't stir...he pawed the blanket.

I reached my hand out and his soft wet nose shot into my palm. He pumped my hand for scratchies. He was probably hungry.

I tossed the blankets off.....made Ozzie dinner, peed, and peered into the refridge to see what I could make for dinner.

Sometimes all you can do....is keep moving. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prayer to the House Gods

Dear House Gods...

.

I'll be back in Chicago tomorrow and I need your help.

.

I've got to finish all the repairs/remodeling in the next two weeks so I can get the house up for sale by the end of October.

.

It will be the last shot of the season and the first-time home owner's credit will expire soon.

.

I know I've been angry at you.......for all the work...all the discoveries of things that needed to be done.....but I guess it's not your fault....it's mine.... or maybe we should blame the Home and Garden Channel....where whole houses and fantastic projects are completed in no time with plenty of smiles and little cash.

.

All I wanted to do was some repairs and renovations to make the house look move-in ready ....so in today's market.....the house would stand above the crowd and sell quicker.

.

Looking back, maybe I should have taken that first ultra low ball offer and sold it "as is".....but .....I kept fixing and modernizing because I needed to honor my parents....I needed to show them for the last time that I loved them......and respected them...and that I would do the best with what they left me.

.

I know....I am a horrible business woman....I should have taken the money...handed the house over and said "Amen."

.

But I didn't.......and you know this isn't the first time in my life...that I have stuck my neck out for my heart and what I felt in it......so I need you to smile down upon my efforts and place a nice family or couple in this home. People who would cherish it like my parents cherished it.....they were so proud of their house...and they loved it so much....they illogically choose to stay in it....even though they were getting too frail to take care of it.

.

And yes...I have "ulterior" motives.....I want to go home....I want to go back to my house...to my kitchen and garden gods....and I want to restart my life after this long pause in order to help my parents leave their lives.

.

So House Gods....help me find the hardwood flooring on sale Wednesday....let it be in stock and shipped within the week...send decent painting guys who will fix the walls and paint the bedrooms so I am proud instead of exasperated by their work. Help me find the strange little knob that makes the screen door work....and most of all help me with those fucking kitchen cabinet doors. Let my paint brush somehow magically erase the uneven base I created through my experimentation....may we have the right cabinet latches so I don't have to go out and buy 68 different ones....let the kitchen drawers match so someone doesn't stand there and say "What the fuck?" and let it stop raining so I can spread a little mulch on the flowerbeds.

.

To assist you, I will bury a statue of St. Joseph upside down and facing the house.

.

But please..... do not tell my new congregation that I am reverting to old Eastern Euro religious customs for luck.

.

Work with me House Gods.....help me pass this shelter.....clean and tidy and functional ....to another family who will grow to love you and bring you much delight.

.

Sincerely....

Gina.

.

Oh and just a little reminder....please help me get there safely......no nodding off in Missouri....I appreciated those noisey little bumps but geez...they scared the shit out of me and Ozzie the Wonder Dog.

Crisis point

Waterloo - a final crushing defeat; "he met his Waterloo" - an unsuccessful ending to a struggle or contest

I am in Chicago liquidating my parent's estate....and feel like this is my "Waterloo moment"...I'll either end up insane or a basket case. Coming out ahead....seems remote at this moment.

The days have been grueling, the work exhausting, the complications numerous and my plans change almost daily.

Finding the estate sale did not empty the house, was a surprise and a setback. And even though I have a "remainder" crew, nothing has been easy. I am still sorting....still putting things to Goodwill or the remainder ladies. I've cleared out the main floor and bedrooms....but still have the basement and a significant amount of my parent's good clothes.

Today I watched my parent's bedroom set squeezed into a truck along with my mother's dainty salmon pink bedroom sitting chair. As they shoved the chair into the truck, I broke down and cried ....right in front of the crew.

It's like experiencing another little death...the departure out of my life of something so familiar and so much a part of my parent's life. Since the moment I have opened my eyes and been conscious of my surroundings....I have seen this bedroom set....poked through the drawers when my parent's weren't looking....borrowed scarves and jewelry when I was older....and now it heads off in a squeaky van....never to be seen again.

The excruciating part that nags at me is the conflicting need for expediency (so I can get the house cleared and get back home) plus a meaningful placement.

If significant parts of your parent's life are being hauled away.....you want the things to go to good places and to people who will also treasure them....but when you don't have months or years to do accomplish this match....the chance of arranging this type of hook-up is remote.

And so the things that the people you loved....loved....go off here and there....and it brings me no comfort.

The emptying of my parent's house....bit by bit....is the washing away of their lives...little by little.

I know this is the way it has to be and must be....but is it emotionally so painful.

I called my hub and told him....I'm not going to do much more work in the house. I'm calling in painting crews, this crew that crew....because I have to get out of here. I can come back once a month and check on the house while it's for sale....but I don't want to live here any longer.

My cellphone rings almost immediately again.... and it's the real estate agent....in this tough market....there are numerous folks cruising for houses.....they'll pay you cash but give you only 50% of the value of the house even adjusted for the market. She tells me we have another scalper offer.....and I sigh....wondering....when the tide will turn and all this will come to an end.

Losing

I am so depressed tonight I can hardly move....hardly breath.

I am back in Chicago and dealing with the aftermath of the estate sale.

I feel terrible.

I feel like I've betrayed my father.

The real estate agent showed me a picture of the dumpster I rented for the estate sale people...It was a 20 foot dumpster and overflowing with things.....I believe they threw out many old things dad had saved because it didn't bring in the threshold amount of money they want to make per item. Old magazines, pamphlets on old products.....even many small old items.

Dad saved everything...he saved things not for himself...but for the future...for me...for the grand kids......for the moment when someone....would appreciate what he saved of history and the times.

Estate sales are not about history or appreciation.....What you have is a group of people...looking for ways to make money....if an old pamphlet or vintage tool...doesn't meet a monetary standard...then out it goes to the dumpster....it has to bring in money ...or else it's not worth their time.

Today....I am dealing with a second tier of people who thrive on making money off my need for speed and closure on my parent's estate.

This is the remainder person...who comes in and boxes everything up....and scurries off to sell more things........your things....for pennies on the dollar.

It's not that I want thousands of dollars for what my dad saved....but I want a good home and respect for the items which he cherished ....instead .....everything is just a commodity......but it's the middle man--- who has the time and leisure to go on ebay or sell things online--who will make a fortune in comparison to what you were paid.

It is a greedy business...it seems everyone makes money except the original owner....and I am so glad....at the last minute ...I packed out more of dad's stuff.... we took a whole truck back home....because the old and cherished things he had saved for me and for his grand kids....would have gone poof in the hands of estate sales people.

They wouldn't have cared about my grandfather's straight razors...or his tools....it's all about moving ....moving the merchandise out for as little as possible to someone else who will collect as much as possible.

I am sorry things my dad saved were probably thrown away.... many things were small and interesting ......I wish I had years to research things leisurely...I wish I had half a house to store all the things....I wish I lived only a few miles away so I could protect and sell things in a way that would honor both my parents.

I have been working so so hard going through things....I am exhausted ...... yet there's little time to ponder and cherish....there is only....we must clear this room or this space or this portion of the house.

I'm sorry dad....what I saved I'll cherish and try to pass on in a more thoughtful manner.

You worked so hard to save the past....I'm sorry the circumstances won't allow me to cherish all that you did.

You were an amazing guy,,, dad....I always knew that....and everything I touch reaffirms that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Papers

It's quiet and dark in the house.

I'm sitting in my small computer room ...fidgeting.

I've read the NY Times online....I've checked my email....I've made my "to do" list for the week...
but...

tomorrow my hub will fax papers to a real estate agent in the morning and the process for selling my parent's house will begin.

A potential sale is still a ways off....there's some renovations and repairs to complete....but...the papers will set a new set of work in motion.

Of course I have to sell their house....of course I have to sell their stuff....of course I have to stop driving up twice a month to Chicago....

but.....

I am just scared.

I know this is all going to make things hurt again....the razor I've been ducking and dashing around....is going to find it's way to my heart again.


I wish joy would knock on my door unannounced....

I wish new options would burst open....

but right now I just see more hard work and stress....

and a particular type of worker bee drudgery.

Even though there is no escape from what needs to be done....

I wish for a little honey....

Waiting.......

The house is quiet.

The clock is off the wall and doesn't tick.....the TV cable is disconnected.....the refrigerator does not clink with a new batch of ice cubes.

Everything is waiting.....

Waiting for the crew of women who will arrive in the morning...and begin re-organizing and pricing and placing things in places from which all these things will exit the house.

I'm waiting too....

to go to bed....to get up.....to catch the cats....to squeeze the last things into the car.

I dreaded this day.....the night before my parent's things are placed into hired hands.....

but now that it is here.....I have a sense it's time for all of it to go....

and for me to go too.....

one of the cats is sleeping next to my chair....she has no idea that tomorrow....I will quickly grab her and put here in a crate and move her away from the only place she has lived for ten years....

she is clueless about the changes that will arrive in a few hours.....

I sympathize with her......I've been clueless so many times in the last couple of years.