Birth and death; we all move between these two unknowns. ~Bryant H. McGill

It's ironic. I can see that. The day that hits me the hardest, since my dad has died, is the day of his birth.

I just spent a week in CA cleaning out 'stuff' in my mom's 'barn'. It's really not a barn. There is not one chicken or cow paying rent. It's really barn shaped garage. One that held the RV they were traveling in when my dad passed.

Now the RV is at a consignment lot, waiting for the winning bid on ebay. A curse and a blessing for my mom, I'm sure. Some of her happiest moments were traveling all over the US with my dad in that rig. But it's where he started feeling ill, suddenly. After a fun day with their traveling group.

Within 24 hours he was gone.

She wouldn't leave the RV until we had someone that would get it back home for her. How could anyone ask her to leave it behind. At that point my mom seemed like a lil girl who had left her favorite stuffed toy and didn't want to go till we found it for her.

Now the space in the barn, that the RV filled, as life continues to move forward, is finding substitutes quickly

My sister's move to England has filled space where the RV bedroom was. A car takes the place of the kitchen and bathroom. A patio set stacked neatly where my mom and dad would sit, side by side, miles of road passing under that 'rock star' size rig.

We cleaned and hauled and stacked stuff up. The Goodwill scheduled to come in two weeks and back a truck up to collect it. Things from before I was born, stashed away by my dad. And now what? Where does it go? Why can't we let it go? Why should WE keep it any longer? What would we ever do with it?

I started thinking about all the crap in my house. Who will sweep out the years of collecting when I'm gone? And they most certainly will look at it and say, "What am I suppose to do with it?" Maybe, just like me, they will feel that pull in their heart that says, "But why can't I throw it out?"

To grasp one last time at the physical, as the mental memories slip away every day. How did he use to smile? That lil chuckle he had....how did it go exactly?

Sand....draining from my hand, one grain at a time. Leaving nothing but the soft, dusty, residue clinging to my moist palms. It reminds, me my fist was filled to capacity, only moments ago.

Happy birthday dad. Your 'presence' are still in the barn.