I'm not saying I have an OCD kind of clean house...but I at least clean the important stuff. And yes, I've been accused of being a "hoarder" although I don't agree in the least. I've seen the piles of memories that people keep for their own reasons...and mine are quite small in comparison. Over the past few months my grandpa peek's health as not been good. He's had some cancer removed, lost some personal freedoms and had to accept the help given even though he thinks he doesn't need it. Since the death of my uncle Kim, grandpa's health has continued to decline. And while it's always hard to see someone who's not feelin' well, it's been good too. My own father's relationship with his dad has increased greatly. And my dad has taken it upon himself to be the one grandpa can depend on for all kinds of cares. One such situation would be the cleaning out of grandpa's house...which I volunteered to help with. First mistake. Well, not really a mistake, I just didn't know what I was getting myself into. It has been years and years since I remember going inside grandpa's house...the same plants that were dead by the window then are still there and more dead now. Years and years of awards and plaques and cards and papers of Kim's travels and accomplishments cover the entire house top to bottom...where do you even begin in that? But as I sat there with my dad and went through all these memories with him...it made me remember what family is really about. And sometimes I forget where I came from. And sometimes I don't want to remember...but I'm glad I do.
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