Saying Goodbye to a Place
Mom dismantled her whole house before I had a chance to go through and say goodbye. To try to seal each room into memory. Of course her house, like mine, like our lives, has always been one big evolution. But the change is still disorienting. She's brought all my stuff down from the attic, and I'm forced to confront it for what it really is: mostly junk that's long outlived its purpose. I must decide what to keep and what to trash. What is and is not worth saving. In between my bouts of sadness I feel a growing optimism. Things change. I don't have to remain tied to my pass. There is a freedom in paring down and casting aside.
They've lived in that house since the summer of 1997. Twenty years, almost to to the day.
I dreamed about their back yard last night, like I often do. In the dream I wandered down the hill to an overlook by a huge lake. I had my camera with me. The sun was setting behind the trees. There wasn't enough light for a good exposure. But I snapped lots of photographs anyway. I didn't know if I would ever find my way there again.