i'm sure there are lots of riveting details to add in, but i won't bother with those. long story short, as many of you know, mom died. the story of her death is wrought with misery and beauty, grace and humiliation, tragedy and magic, mystery and peace, as death stories so often are. and if you ever have any questions, ask me. i learned a lot, grew up right fast, and nowadays would go so far as to consider myself an expert at getting through the hard stuff.
after the whole rollercoaster was over, my job was to clean up the wreckage, clean out mom's closets, and start over. i immediately made plans to get the fuck out of dodge and move to edison full time. i wanted nothing more than open space and quiet, to heal. dad made plans to remodel and move into our portland house. we both needed a change of scenery, tabula rasa. stat. the timing was right. we began the long, emotional process of boxing up our lives, taping those boxes closed, labeling them for someday when we felt brave enough to open them up again. me and dad and joe, we had meltdown after meltdown, we would sometimes talk about them, oh, you had a meltdown too? the comfort in going through it as a family was often met with the utter alienation that grief brings: a long, drawn out process it was.
about a year later, james and i had a moving sale on our portland postage stamp of a lawn, making it official, we're leaving for good, hearkening to the first time we moved away together, selling all the things we'd collected from alleys and thrift stores, the things we'd lovingly integrated into our landscape to comfort us, the things that we could bear to part with to lighten the load. keeping the piano. always reminding myself to let go. don't hold on to the past. it's time to move on.
thus begins a new chapter, called life in edison.