It has been an intense few days getting my house in order. The detritus from times past needed cleaning up to make way for the here and now. Once I got started, it became impossible to stop until that degree of order had been achieved. Something that would make the past go away like a bad dream, dredge out every last shred of it and leave things clean. When I embarked on this purge journey, I had no idea what "done" would look and feel like. It was supposed to be one of those - you know it when you see it. The first day it was over ten hours of work with some short pauses. My appetite had completely disappeared by then. The next morning, I was back at it and with lesser intensity but still plugged away until midnight. Day three saw me sore and spent from running on fumes. The job was just about done but not quite. Dropping of the remains of what had once been my life to the thrift store was the final step in the deep detox. That was also the first time I experienced any feeling of hunger.
Lately, I have been talking to my parents about what's next- when should they plan to move in with me. If they don't like that option then how would they manage when they were no longer able to fend for themselves. Even the preliminary conversations have proven very stressful for them and they don't like going there. My weekend of deep-cleaning and wading through accumulated stuff helped me understand how they might feel asking if they want to be uprooted in entirety from their lives. Their roots go way deeper than mine, the history is more complex and longer. It also made me think about my friend A whose octogenarian father is slated to come to America leaving his world and life behind. He feels terribly alone after the demise of his wife but is coming to America the right answer for him - only time will tell.
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