We've been sifting through mom and dad's stuff for days. Piles for mom's new place, each kid, senior bees, goodwill, and the curb. Piles of files for the shredder. Letters from dad and scribbles on backs of picture frames and in notebooks. Photos scattered in boxes and albums. Stories about honeymoon masks and paintings. Memories of another time place person dwarfing monetary value. Casey stocking made by the grandma I never knew. The toy gun John could never play with. Belt buckles and bolo ties. Handiwork stays over new. A sliderule that obviously goes to you. The squirrel that didn't quite make it and dad's new roommate. The curb was visited, 25 trash bags down to 13. Kids playing amongst the piles, ignored in the bustle. Not sure how I'd take in all of this in Amanda's shoes. Rogerdale's home-fixed dinner, a church potluck that only we showed up for with our holiday recipes. Happy kids being pushed on wheeled boards in the gym. Opening presents and a disappointed kid. Not a traditional Christmas. Sibs and family leave today and I already miss them. Reliving the past to make room for the future is not easy, but better with them.
