The Bucket

My mom left to begin driving home to Wisconsin yesterday.  One of the saddest days yet for our home.  She managed to fit everything that she brought with her last fall plus all that she acquired since then into her car for the 1200 mile, 20 hour drive.  Did I mention it was horribly sad?  It was a bit of a power struggle for me to agree to let her make the trip solo, but in the end I understood her need for some alone time and let her go.  So why do I feel like a parent sending their child off to college or to their first job?

So yesterday afternoon I spent cleaning out the room and moving all of Travis' clothes, stuffed animals, pictures, etc. back into the room.  All the time I was thinking what a good room that has been for my family.  That room was the first bedroom Randy and I painted together.  My sister spent six months in that room living with us after college/ graduate school.  It was Travis' first "big boy" room when Justin was born.  And now I am considering moving both boys together into that room.  (Thoughts?)  It is overflowing with memories.  They fill the room beyond measure.

And the bucket?  When my mom moved in and she began chemo she wanted something that would be "just in case" she needed it for whatever chemo might do to her.  She kept that bucket by her bed for almost nine months.  It became the elephant in the room.  The reminder that while it was wonderful that she was with us, it was for another reason.  I moved the bucket dozens of times during her stay.  The bucket became cancer for me.


But when she left, the bucket stayed behind.  Its usefulness passed.  She is no longer to be identified with her bucket, nor it with her.  Washing the bucket and putting it away was cathartic.  I relived the past nine months in quick flashes, moving more quickly as time progressed.  I felt a weight removed and joy abounding when the last image flashed of Randy bringing the bucket out of the room.  The bucket is back to being...just a bucket.