***Note: if you received this post via email and it has old posts with it, I ask your forgiveness. I think we’ve got the blog fixed at last and that will be the last time that happens.
“It was a fantastic visit,” my father told me as I called from my flight home. I hadn’t asked permission to pack up their house so the realtor could list it. But I had told them what I was up to, and neither one had told me not to do it. I cried with both of them over the end of a life they knew and loved.
The realtor will stage the house, but I staged the garage so they would know I handled the artifacts of their lives with care. The labels were color-coordinated and lovingly affixed. And when mom wanted to know where her knives were, I was able to tell her how to find them easily.
Now they can settle in to their new home in assisted living more easily. I hadn’t asked permission and they both did get angry with me for a moment or two. But I clearly was forgiven. It was a fantastic visit.