a drop of water

Sometimes, a different perspective is needed.
This is definitely one of those times.
Yesterday, my first niece, my outlaw Melinda, and I spent five hours setting right the house of my little sister's dad. What a totally depressing afternoon.
I spent most of that time gathering bed linens, toweling, clothing, then evaluating the items. Salvageable? Too badly damaged by body fluids?
I also worked in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher twice, unloading it three times. Why? It had not yet been unloaded from a previous time when he had washed dishes.
I had it easy.
Christina and Melinda had the horror show in the main bathroom and the front bedroom.
Even so, the work, and the atmosphere in the house, took its toll on me, mentally, spiritually, and physically. One of the downsides of getting older, a downside that no one really talks about, is that of helping those dear to you bury their parents and siblings.
My dear Jo, from my high school days, lost her youngest brother on New Year's Day. Still no word on when his funeral will be, due to legal complications.
Sue's dad is again in the hospital. Word is that he may never come home again. We were there yesterday trying to make the house habitable before Sue arrives in a few weeks.
I doubt she will actually be able to stay there.
The smell of cigarette smoke swats you as soon as the front door is opened. It's engrained in the furniture, the carpeting, the very paint on the walls, even the air and the ice in the refrigerator. Even keeping the house open the entire time we were there could not dissipate those many years of smoke inhalation by the furnishings.
We have one more trip to make there, to haul the carpet to the dump.
I wish I was done with it.