I. Can't. Do. This.
Aug. 17th, 2009 07:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
verushka70So I've got to get my mother's apartment cleaned out so we can rent it because the property taxes come out in September and there's not enough money left in the life insurance to both pay for her funeral, pay for the work on the house that needs to be done, AND pay for the taxes.
And, like, no one is helping me. My one older sister doesn't work at all. Theoretically this would have given her ample time to help me. But no. She came over to help for 3.5 hours. And I've been waiting for everyone else to come help, because I don't want to be the one who decided to throw away so-and-so's fifth grade whatever that my mom saved for 40 years. I just don't want all that on my head, the deciding what to keep, what to toss, what to sell/donate.
My younger sister lives in Wisconsin, so she came down Saturday and part of Sunday and helped. But.
This is 40 years of stuff. My parents moved in here in 1969. My dad's stuff either was taken by him, given to him, or trashed after it sat in the basement and garage for 10 years after my parents divorced (except for the stuff my mother secretly saved, which I've only just recently discovered, ow).
My brother? Drove my younger sister to the house after having lunch with her. And left. Didn't even come in. Totally can not deal.
My oldest sister gets in tonight from her vacay in BC, more specifically, kayaking around Victoria Island. But... she relates to this house, and my mom, about as well as my brother. Which is, not. Very.
I'm not holding anything against anybody. I completely understand. My parents' marriage was a shithole and my dad was a brutal tyrant through all of my formative years, and theirs too. They, unlike me, associate the memories with the place. For whatever reason -- probably because I moved back here but took the 2nd floor apartment, which has the exact same layout as my mom's except missing one door -- I no longer associate the memories with the place. They're inside me, and I know they'll always be there (until someone invents some kind of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" for childhood), but they're not tied to a particular location. Nevertheless, I do grasp how place can hold emotion... emotions preferably left unremembered and not re-felt. Re-feeled. Whatever.
But... that leaves it all on me. When I'm not crying over old things I never thought my mom would've saved, hesitating over whether something should go in the "save, but store," "save, but keep with me," "give to C----/N---/J----/C---- because Mom wanted them to have it" or "donate/give away/estate sale" pile, or mindlessly emptying years-old, long-unread magazines and professional journals into the recycling bin again and again... I'm paralyzed, looking at whatever room I'm in, all the stuff in it, stuff, and furniture, and mementoes, and photos, and tchotchkes, and collectibles that may or may not be worth anything, feeling completely incapable, not up to the task, and wishing there was some way to preserve everything and leave it exactly the way it is, and have a virtual empty apartment inside my mom's apartment -- if this can work theoretically in quantum and string theory, why not this? -- so everything can stay exactly the way it is and I don't have to go through this, but we can still rent the virtual apartment and get the rent money we need to make the gas, electric, water, and tax bills on the house.
Fuck.
And, like, no one is helping me. My one older sister doesn't work at all. Theoretically this would have given her ample time to help me. But no. She came over to help for 3.5 hours. And I've been waiting for everyone else to come help, because I don't want to be the one who decided to throw away so-and-so's fifth grade whatever that my mom saved for 40 years. I just don't want all that on my head, the deciding what to keep, what to toss, what to sell/donate.
My younger sister lives in Wisconsin, so she came down Saturday and part of Sunday and helped. But.
This is 40 years of stuff. My parents moved in here in 1969. My dad's stuff either was taken by him, given to him, or trashed after it sat in the basement and garage for 10 years after my parents divorced (except for the stuff my mother secretly saved, which I've only just recently discovered, ow).
My brother? Drove my younger sister to the house after having lunch with her. And left. Didn't even come in. Totally can not deal.
My oldest sister gets in tonight from her vacay in BC, more specifically, kayaking around Victoria Island. But... she relates to this house, and my mom, about as well as my brother. Which is, not. Very.
I'm not holding anything against anybody. I completely understand. My parents' marriage was a shithole and my dad was a brutal tyrant through all of my formative years, and theirs too. They, unlike me, associate the memories with the place. For whatever reason -- probably because I moved back here but took the 2nd floor apartment, which has the exact same layout as my mom's except missing one door -- I no longer associate the memories with the place. They're inside me, and I know they'll always be there (until someone invents some kind of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" for childhood), but they're not tied to a particular location. Nevertheless, I do grasp how place can hold emotion... emotions preferably left unremembered and not re-felt. Re-feeled. Whatever.
But... that leaves it all on me. When I'm not crying over old things I never thought my mom would've saved, hesitating over whether something should go in the "save, but store," "save, but keep with me," "give to C----/N---/J----/C---- because Mom wanted them to have it" or "donate/give away/estate sale" pile, or mindlessly emptying years-old, long-unread magazines and professional journals into the recycling bin again and again... I'm paralyzed, looking at whatever room I'm in, all the stuff in it, stuff, and furniture, and mementoes, and photos, and tchotchkes, and collectibles that may or may not be worth anything, feeling completely incapable, not up to the task, and wishing there was some way to preserve everything and leave it exactly the way it is, and have a virtual empty apartment inside my mom's apartment -- if this can work theoretically in quantum and string theory, why not this? -- so everything can stay exactly the way it is and I don't have to go through this, but we can still rent the virtual apartment and get the rent money we need to make the gas, electric, water, and tax bills on the house.
Fuck.
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 04:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 02:49 pm (UTC)Lovely icon, though, btw.