Surreal life...

I haven't been writing much these days since I'm still not over my funk about Bob. Of course going through the hellish exercise called "moving his things" with his 80 year old Mother the other day did NOT help things. At all. It was an almost out of body experience. The man is not toast yet but EVERYONE in his family is acting like he is. So, I tried to help his mother with his stuff. I sorted stuff for two days before she arrived from his childhood home, putting things in boxes and whatnot. Do you know what she did? She repacked everything. No, I'm not kidding. Why the hell did I bother? Then, I watched while she, her husband, her sister in-law, and her nephew in-law picked over his stuff, discarding things with comments like "I don't like that, that's too big and ugly.". They were talking about a medium sized piece of abstract artwork. Keep in mind, we were standing in the middle of a loft condo. You know the kind... deliberately designed with exposed ductwork and 12 foot ceilings. Of course, she's 80 and has never lived anywhere other than Greensboro NC, so I suppose her tastes would be radically different than a man who's lived in some far flung places; such as Australia and Uruguay.

All I know is; I wouldn't want to be in HER shoes. Mind you, she drove me nuts the entire time I was around her, regaling me with the same story about the two blue wingback leather chairs and the time that she bought one of them for "Bobby". I swear she told me that story 4 times. In 4 hours. But, ultimately, I realized that she must be having a hell of a time with this situation. Going through her son's stuff, deciding what to do with the minutiae of his belongings when so much more important things hang in the balance. I know she loves her boy. I can only hope that she understands that my helping her dispose of his stuff was my way of showing that I love him too.