Friday was a day of tears. On Thursday we had a realtor preview the house for a client. he told out realtor that the house was too “specific,” whatever that means. I think actually, it means that the house was not generic enough for his toney Mannhatten clients.
When our house was redone by the couple that owned it before us, they infused it with themselves. There are little traces of them nestled all over the house. We saw them as blessings, and loved their imprints.
After the preview, our realtors sat me down and said that we had to de-clutter the upstairs – specifically my daughters rooms which are filled with their momentos and treasures collected over their lives. The things they love. The things that I am used to seeing around them, that give them (and me) a sense of history with us. My youngest daughter went first and put all of her treasures in a box in the attic.
When I saw her de-nuded room, I lost it. Great waves and spasms of grief. It felt as if she had packed her essence away, that she had removed something precious and incalculable from her space. I could not stop crying. What I realized was that I was letting myself grieve the loss, the change, the leaving that will come when it comes. I suddenly felt all the emptying that is here and coming. I have been so boldly going forward that I had left out that part – the grieving part, the sorrowing. It was like I had been surfing along on the surface, and suddenly the abyss reached up and pulled me under.
I went to my usual wise places and read Jon Katz and Maria Wulf. I leafed back through Maria’s posts and found the one about riding the shit train, which made me smile. I don’t think I had ever read her so bold, so THERE. I loved it. I looked for Abraham. It all helped, but the tears were there all day, leaking, pooling, dripping.
I am allowing myself the sadness. I am not parked in it, but feel it as weather passing through. Today was like that too – passing storms – big weather, then little sprinkles. Tomorrow, different weather.