Packed Up

This Saturday saw the last of the items that we were keeping removed from my parents' house.

The house is empty, completely empty outside of appliances.  Having not seen it when my parents moved in, I think this is the first time that I have observed it largely as it looked when we moved in.

It is odd:  the remaining items that I agonized over whether to keep or let go - all gone.  It is as if there was never a decision to be made about it.

The house was also professionally cleaned; I do not know that I can ever remember the house looking that clean.  Cobwebs are gone, flat surfaces are dusted, the carpet looks fresh and plush.

The last few things - a set of dishes I needed to repack to make them more manageable, the last piece of furniture - were moved down to the barn for safekeeping.  The numerous keys that were located on the keychain I borrowed four years ago were gone through and compared with existing locks, some to be thrown away and some to pass back to my sister.  The last sets of pictures that my Uncle had requested were taken up to him.  Other than towels and curtains and a single item to be donated to the local historical society, it is over.

In theory there should be no reason for me to have to go up to attend to the house now, although I plan on going on my monthly rounds at least for now:  there are still people to visit and at some point all of the things in the Barn have to make their way to a more permanent storage locker.  

But I have to confess that, sitting in the airport going and coming again, waiting for another round of flight delays, the inevitable shuffle of masses of people on and off of planes and through terminals and getting picked up, made me realize that I will not miss the portion at all.

Maybe some day in years hence, I will look back on photos or think on experiences and feel sad.  But more and more what I remember is the weird twilight of this preparation, of efforts and time expended for a thing that is rapidly passing from view.