So, we have two spare rooms in our little hippie house. One is named Sisi's room because it has all of her furniture and Cayucos/Walter family things in it. The other is called Grandpa's room because it has my dad's furniture and Casas family things in it. Yes, I understand I have made my two spare rooms into shrines for dead people. Yes, I understand some people might see this as creepy. No, I don't care.
Anyway, I was in Grandpa's room tonight, trying to unload all my kitchen stuff that we schlepped there back into the kitchen now that the painting and tiling is finally finished. Of course, I got sidetracked for a few minutes, ok, an hour, when the boxes of photos caught my attention. I know, squirrel! So, I started going through photos and then was distracted by the monument on the wall in front of me. And it made me realize something. Having parents like mine, that make everything in life a party for everyone including the garbage man, is a burden after they die.
Yes, a burden. A heavy load to carry. Because when they died everything stopped and the everything they created was massive. It involved everyone they knew. And all that being gone for all of us left behind, all the parties and adventures and crazy shenanigans, is unbelievably heavy for an empty box. But sometimes, that's exactly how it feels living without the Casas Chaos. Like carrying the heaviest emptiness imaginable.
I suppose this is the price of being loved by a hard-headed Swiss and a hard-to-handle Spaniard.
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