This trip has been very tense. Time is limited. Emotions are running high. A bad combination. The "To Do List" just keeps on getting longer and I just feel drained. FYI, cleaning out your childhood home is a marathon, not a race, especially when problems seem to arise from every corner.
I've been making pack/toss decisions so quickly that certain things may end up as a regret, but I don't want to think about that now. The solid wood writing table that we grew up with is getting thrown out. The living table where we sat around and watched tv and played card games.
I almost wish I wasn't here dealing with it all. It breaks my heart a little there are so many memories associated with these furniture.
Is this what life is supposed to be about? The endless changes? The need to adapt, to move on, to grow up?
Come this summer, the apartment remains, but it won't be my home any more. Another family will call it home and maybe another after that...
I wish them the very very best. May this place bring them as many happy memories as it did me.
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