Franco: And now my friend, the first-a rule of Italian driving.
[Franco rips off his rear-view mirror and throws it out of the car]
Franco: What’s-a behind me is not important.
Except that sometimes it sort of is…
April 23. It’s always a hard day for me. It marks the day we all said goodbye to my mom.
I think we all have these days. Days that come with a sting instead of a song. No matter what good comes of the day, it’s always a bit bittersweet.
This year I actually spent it with good friends enjoying a bit of racing, I *almost* could have forgotten what day it was. I got a ride in a Ford GT (WHAT?!?) and laughed an awful lot whilst sunburning my so-pale-as-to-almost-be-translucent legs.
I was so glad to have been able to make *that* day into something a little sweeter.
But yesterday hit like a ton of bricks.
I went to hang with the kiddos for a while, as I always do, after not having seen them for the weekend while not-yet-ex went to the store. To discover that every picture that I was part of had been removed from the public rooms of the house and shuffled to corners of the children’s rooms. Some of my things (fairly – nothing of any real importance) had found their way to the trash. Things my stepmother had made for us found their way into the kid’s rooms as well.
Suddenly amicable things aren’t feeling so friendly.
We’d already agreed that I’d help shuffle some things out of Bug’s room – so cleaning was already on the docket. I just shifted that effort. Sweet Pea held the door while I loaded the car – backseat – full, trunk area – full.
You’re going to fairly make the point here that I’ve moved out quite a while ago – none of this should matter. And you’re right – if we’re following the first rule of Italian Driving.
Most of these things I’d put off dealing with for a reason (no – that doesn’t make it right either). They were mom’s or something she’d given, or made. A costume I wore in a play when I was 8. A dress I wore to a ballroom dancing competition when I was 23. The little glass divided tray she used to put pecans in every Christmas.
It’s hard to look at these things and remove them from the house that I wanted so badly to be our dream home. Where I’d used them to entertain friends for Thanksgiving (NO – not in the childhood costumes – though we might file that away for later and more humorous use.) It was hard and I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t emotionally prepared – and I was angry because I felt I’d been blind-sided.
But so be it. It had to be dealt with. And it was. It didn’t matter.
Not-yet-ex was shocked when he came back. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t trying to make a statement according to him (thought this neatly coincides with him starting to see someone new.) But it’s okay.
I have these things now. They’re precious to me.
NOW – we’ll pull out that first rule of Italian driving and go make some new memories. Ones we like better. 😉