Day 170

Damn — 140 days since Dad died. 20 weeks, today. The time just keeps adding up.

Mom has decided she is definitely selling the Mattituck house. I spent much of the day crying. There are so many memories here. It feels as if Dad is dying again. This was his house. The one he loved best. This used to be my son’s palace. This is the house I was banking on living in this year to homeschool my son. But Mom doesn’t drive, and she said that it’s too much. After the neighbors used our property to dispose of the large branches that fell on their property during the storm she fears that will do similar things in the future. Without being able t to get here when she wants, she won’t be able to keep a close watch on the house. I asked her to please hold onto the house through one more summer. I’ll be here this year which means I can keep an eye on it and take care of it. It made sense to me. And then my son can have one more summer here. One more summer at the beach. Mom said no. It’s too expensive and she can’t afford both houses. I’m not sure what the real reason is: not being able to keep a close watch over the place or money. Maybe it’s both. Or maybe it’s something else altogether. I’ve spent time in this house every summer since I was seventeen. My son has spend every summer of his life here. On the door frame of my room I’ve charted his growth. I always thought this house would outlast our condo. I thought my son would grow taller than me here. Where will I homeschool my son? What will we do next year? Where will we spend Easter? How will I keep track of my son’s height?

I can’t take anymore sorrow this year. It’s too much. Dad died two days after my favorite holiday. And now my birthday present is Mom’s decision to sell the house. I have no job which means I may never travel again. My heart is in pieces. I am broken.

After taekwondo camp — I’m not sure my ankle is going to hold out for the duration of the week — we went to Veteran’s beach. Mom sat on a chair in the sand and cried. I had wanted to get her to the beach because she’s hardly been there this year. My son and I have had plenty of water time. But not mom. She had been stuck in the city during the heatwave while we were touring the Great Lakes. But the beach just makes her sad. She can’t step beyond the memories, the absence, the unfulfilled future.