Living the Onion Life

Does anyone else ever feel like this? Slowly peeling away the layers and crying the whole time? I've been feeling like that today. My childhood home is going to be sold and thus I have been forced to sort through boxes upon boxes of "stuff" that I've stored there all these years. Sometimes this involves the thoughts of "why did I keep this?" And into the recycling it goes. Other times I come across items more apt to evoke emotional responses: poetry from a turbulent adolescence, treasures from travels that I've had no place to put, love letters from before that relationship tragically fell apart. These items tell the story of my life, just like the saying on the side of the Walker says "Bits and pieces put together to present a semblance of a whole." Seeing those objects, reading those words, brought me back to those times in my life. This is my history, and yet, I am faced with the prospect of keeping or tossing. What does one save? How much does sentimental value count? Do I really want to move all this stuff? And so I sat on the office floor, next to the paper shredder, diving deeper into boxes, removing layer after layer, peeling back the memories, deciding what to save, what memories to hang on to, and what to forget and throw away... and tearing up all along the way.

But, perhaps more important than the issue of my boxes of "stuff", is the changing dynamic between me and my mom. As my trip through the 20's comes to a close and I begin to "launch" into a more mature adulthood (as opposed to "young" adulthood) I've realized that up until this point I've thought of my mom as a constant in my life, a refuge of familiarity that I could always count on to be there when life overwhelms me. But this is becoming less true with each passing year. My mom has raised her children and deserves to live her life for herself once again. Of course she should retire, sell the house, get remarried and move out of state. I love her so strongly and want nothing but for her to be happy. After all she's been through she certainly deserves it. And yet, there is an 8-year-old child inside me screaming "NO! what about me??" As much as I rationally want to let her go, somehow, it still hurts. Click here to read more...