Letting Go

Ethan's shadow on the wall of Mom's old apartment

There is so very, very much that I have to let go of these days... people, places, things; and also notions, ideas, old certainties worn out and surely ready for discarding.

The thought that my mother may live to 100, aging gracefully.  Gone.

The notion, put forth by some of his Early Intervention therapists that my autistic son Jacob would rapidly make up his developmental delays, easily integrating back into the mainstream by kindergarten, surely no later than 2nd grade? Long, long gone. Along with the notion of him ever leading a fully independent non-scaffolded life. Would take a miracle, that one.

I have let my body go, and my health, and this isn't ok for all the reasons you may imagine. I need to do something to turn this around soon. When I have the time. (So some time in 2015, perhaps?)

I have let go of my boys having a normal sibling relationship. (Not that I have any idea what that might be, anyway.)

And today?

I let go of my mother's last true home. Because a nursing facility, while euphemistically called a "home" is anything but. My mother now sleeps on scratchy hospital sheets, in a bed not really her own, her few meager possessions perched on and in some generic institutional furniture.

The big moving day with the truck and the guys was yesterday. Today I went back to do the final clean-up, sifting through what I was leaving to see what needed keeping after all.

Dad had been found on a shelf, up high in the back of the hall closet. I had to bring him home myself, did not want to pack him into a box entrusted to movers. Ashes are heavy. Did you know that?

I had to bring Ethan with me, the need to keep him separate from Jacob apparent from the constant unacceptable decibel levels whenever they were together.

So I couldn't even fall apart properly, with sobs and wallowing; had to give a quiet goodbye. One last wave to the room. Light out. Keys turned in.

Four boxes and five shopping bags in the trunk of a taxi later; move out complete.

So, all done with another thing I have let go: the last place my parents moved into together.
 

My mother's favorite chair, not taken.

Goodbye, Carnegie East House.

You were a good home to my mother, my father, assisting their living well.

(Sniffle, sniffle, stifled sob)