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All the bits of paper
We moved houses on May 1, but there is still so much more to do.
I am not sure if I mentioned this, but my mom is moving in with us. And it's going to be a big change for all of us, to say the least, with challenges and beauty, like any major transition.

The room my mom will be living in still needs a lot of work. We've painted and assembled dressers, but there' s still more to finesse. And we are dismantling her apartment, packing and sorting and giving and selling. 

And if the transition, and the sickness were not traumatic enough, at every turn there are pictures and letters and momentos that stop me in my tracks. Forget the china, the silverware, the baking pans. I am talking about the little bits of paper. The recipe cards and stapled papers and letters. I can't seem to throw them away.

An example: The letter from a surgeon to a doctor (my family doctor from childhood) discussing my grandmother's (my mom's mom) pending operation. He describes her as bright, pleasant, and slightly depressed. He thanks our family doctor for referring her.  

With all the bullshit we have been dealing with from specialists who have no time to discuss anything beyond mechanics, I reel. I sit on the sofa and read it again. I get teary.

First, of course, was the description of my grandmother, who has been gone for nearly ten years now, by a third party who was neither family nor friend. Amid all the medical information, she was right there on the page, but with new dimensions revealed. Bright. Depressed (really?). What really got me was that this specialist was taking the time to talk about her as a person, gently presenting her options, the likelihood that she would feel better and live longer with this procedure.  I wanted to kiss him for the kindness in his tone, his generosity toward my grandma.

How can I throw this stuff away? This is my state of mind.

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post #1501
bio: adina

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