No witty subject line today

[crowdog66]

This morning George's nephew, who has a half-ton truck, drove us down to the storage unit where my mother's stuff is being kept to take out some stuff for George's brother Reg, then drove the furniture over to Reg's place. They let me out downtown so I could run a few errands while the "big strong men" huffed and puffed the items up a couple of flights of stairs.

I returned a couple of DVDs and rented a new one, did some grocery shopping, and returned home. I was fine throughout the afternoon, but just now it hit me: I was in the storage unit with my dead mother's things. Her life had been boiled down to some boxes and some tightly-packed pieces of furniture.

The thought of those items so far away, sitting in the dark, is tremendously depressing. I don't have the heart to exercise today. I barely have the heart to go on breathing.

And I paid $11.58 for 230 grams (8.08 oz) of white 5-year-old Britannia Cheddar cheese. But it is almost unbearably good.

Comments

[eastpath.livejournal.com]

look at it this way, at least you still have some access to those things and those memories, sometimes people don't (say in a house fire for example). so they may be there in the dark now, but they are there for you still *HUGSHUGSHUGS*

and my my my but it is gooooooood cheese.. :) *sending looooove*

[princessmusey.livejournal.com]

I know it's hard at times like this, but your mother is more than just boxes of stuff. She is in your heart and mind, as she is with every person whose life she touched. The stuff, while it has memories attached to it, is just stuff.

You are the living proof of your mother and for that reason she will never be "boiled down to some boxes and some tightly-packed pieces of furniture".

I know that may not help right now, so *hugs*.