At the inlaws’ house this weekend, the plan was to tackle the garage and the attic because downsizing is a necessity and the apt is now furnished. sell the stuff that was usable surplus and throw away the junk. j is the queen of practical efficiency and was freaking over the amount of things accumulated in the house. Magazines rarely make it past 3 months old in our place
in the attic we went through a time capsule, old documents, now-throwback sportswear, retro fashions, letters from Vietnam, old school photos (j rocking many styles of the day). everyone was younger and happy (it seems like we’re always happy when we take pictures)
pop-in-law has a lot of things, some we question if he’ll be able to use like he did before, like hunting guns and fishing rods. I have determined he’s got enough shoes and Kangols to warrant their own room
he was there briefly, and he said he did not remember the house.
he was able to, with us supporting him on each side, walk a few feet to the other door.
i talk to him, trying not to lose sense of his humanity in the ‘what do we do now’ stream of conciousness, even though we may not be able to carry on a full conversation.
every day is a struggle and i see more and more of who he was fighting to return.
At the end of the day, we’ve gone through many more belongings, clothes, camera equipment, assorted bullets in a box, assorted boxes of bullets, boxes of cancelled checks dating from 1973. we learn that pops doesn’t remember ever hunting.
– composed with sharp MT