I wish sometimes I perceived life like most people in the world.
Most people would be thrilled to receive three huge grates which have traveled cross country filled with stuff.
But, oh not me. In fact when they were placed in my garage, I signed the papers, watched the moving truck release it’s squeaky breaks to drive away, and then I sat in my garage and sobbed right along with the items inside.
“I’m so sorry!” I said to the items in the crates. “You don’t belong at this house, I know. You belong at the house you have lived at for years and years and years. You belong with mom and dad at the Big Yellow House!”
The three crates and I sat together in the garage in silence while I wept for them..and me.
Most people seem to move on in life so much easier and with less drama and emotion.
But, oh not me!
For me, death does not stop at the loss of a life that I loved. Little deaths keeps happening over and over and over as little and big things slowly disappear.
On my outside, I give the appearance I am trying to be like most people and move on.
But on the inside I feel the most ultimate homesickness I have ever felt, and it won’t go away.
I don’t want to open the crates. Somehow it makes death come once again.
I know what most people would say at this…
“Get over it,” right.
“OPEN THE DUMB CRATES AND LET’S SEE WHAT WE GET!” right.
I am not like most people…
I cry with crate stuff that is displaced.
And I believe the stuff is crying inside too…
So here I sit homesick,
with crates full of stuff in my garage,
hoping somehow I can send them back to their right home
and have it all be the same.
But most people rational will win, and the crates will open
and that is that.