Dear Mom, Where do I start in asking absolution for the many times I just did not take the time to listen and understand. Leaving your home. Dad had the easy way out and you were left with the unbelievable hard part. Choosing what to take and what to leave. So many layers of memories, trivial things that hand no actual value, except to you. Things you so wanted us to value and treasure. Things we should ask to keep. Not so much to go to the remainder man or worse the landfill. I am sorry I was not there, that as usual a project was more important than sifting through the accumulation of 50 years and dispositioning every treasure. As so often you said someday I will be in your shoes. I did not understand or listen.
I am moving. Not a new thing. I have moved more times than I ever planned. This has been the longest I have ever lived anywhere and I brought everything with me from the last move. But, this time I have to cull down the everything. I was working on a box of miscellaneous photos. Just photos dumped in a box waiting for the day I had time to sort them out. I found pictures that included the big uncomfortable rocker in at least 4 houses. No one ever sits in it. It just balances out a corner. The dining room set and the same pictures in multiple houses in Canada, and Roanoke and Ashburn x3, Charlottesville and Charlotte. It looks better now that it is lighter. And the two eagle mirrors are gone, damaged in one of the moves. But the ladies and fruit sellers persist. I am not sure I even like them. I think they own me not the other way around. I just keep packing and moving them afraid that if I let it all go somehow I really will be without any past, I will be found to be shallow without substance.
I know I lamented the old worn end tables and the blond dresser and so much more, but I know now that it was for you proof that you had been a person of substance. Someone who had a family. Someone who mattered. I am so so sorry. Mea culpa, Mea culpa, Mea maxima culpa. Your daughter.
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