Last night as Raymond shut the door on the empty storage unit I broke down and cried. I expected to feel relief. The storage unit seemed such a burden of stuff - a HUGE project - a chore I didn’t want hanging over my head/heart/bank account. But it was so……..empty.
My mom treasured that couch. She refinished those pieces of furniture for my little girlie bedroom. Mom was beautiful. She baked bread and pies and cookies and cinnamon rolls. I have been essentially losing my mother for twelve years since Alzheimer’s began its attack. I witnessed and cared for her while she lost her mind. I handled with grace the graceless moments. My heart remained buoyant in the muck so how the fuck does sweeping out an empty storage unit squeeze the breath out of my heart ’til it feels like the pile of dust at my feet?
Six years ago I swept the cement studio floor of my brand new studio; the “first sweep.” I thought I would feel pure joy. But as I swept...I wept. I slid down the wall in a corner of my brand new gift of a studio, sat and cried.
My father died earlier that year. Quick and horrific, pancreatic cancer chewed him up and spit him out. The thought that my father did not know about the giant gift of a studio from a patron who believed in my talent made me sad. I wanted him to see it. I wanted my father to see….me.
Sweeping and weeping; simple acts of cleaning scoured my heart.
