I was going to post about how we as a family tackled the ginormous mess that is our kids' room. But then, something happened. A pink piggy bank that my mom had given to older DD years ago broke. I moved too quickly near it, with something, can't even remember what, in my hand, and with a crash, it was shattered. And I started crying.
I cried on and off the rest of the day. For my mom who isn't here anymore and won't give any more gifts to my daughters. For me, who misses her and for our challenging relationship.
It's a curse to have a good memory. I know people whose minds just let things go, who wouldn't have remembered where that piggy bank came from. But I remember and it's why I have such trouble letting go of the physical.