I’m starting to understand why some people are pack rats.
I’ve been cleaning out, and sometimes it feels like suffocating because I’m not letting go of a mess, I’m letting go of my life.
The bad memories are easy to get rid of, but it’s wrenching to “lose” the good ones. Like, when Emme was young enough to enjoy “staying over”, I collected paint sets and other artistic things for her to play with.
She’s a young lady now, and prefers the company of her friend Vickie, so there’s no point in keeping the paints, the brushes, the glitter glue or the rest of it.
I want it back, I want the years back and those days back!
And guess what, it’s no damned consolation that I had those years. They say you regret what you haven’t done, but I regret the fact that I can’t do it again. They were good years, and I want them back.
Just imagine: some people are dumb enough to think that money can buy happiness. Well, it can’t. Money can’t buy any of the things that the heart craves the most.
If you ever find one golden summer day for sale, a day that includes my grandkids running through a sprinkler, buying Sponge Bob pops from the ice cream man, and watching fireworks, please let me know.