Yesterday, as mom sorted through a closet, we stumbled across old report cards, newspaper clippings, coats, jackets, shoes, and a box of books.
I was pleased with the find because I had been looking for some of these books. A bookcase was dismantled while I was away, and the books had vanished.
What bothered me is that there was an expectation that I would toss the books, that I would want to be rid of them. I could get rid of all my clothes except a couple of jeans and t-shirts, and a couple of socks, and a jacket. I could get rid of my desk. I could get rid of my sofa, my tv, everything. We could dump my bedroom set and leave me a mattress on the floor. I wouldn’t think anything of it.
I cannot stand to part company with my books or my music. It’s one of the worst things I’ve been asked to consider in the last couple of months.