Time.

Lately I’ve been thinking about time. Not thyme the spice, but time like a tick tocking clock.

When my parents moved to Atlanta in 1985, I highly doubt they had intentions of staying here for the long haul. I mean, why would two Northern bred people move to the South and plan on staying forever? People say “y’all” here and drink sweet tea. And it’s sweltering here in the summer. Although, after the winter that is currently happening in the North, maybe they had the right idea. Anyways, over time they established roots in Atlanta. They found an area with a good school system and bought a house at the bottom of two hills on Aberdeen Drive. They made friends, joined the local pool, Nancy and I became Girl Scouts, and they sent me to cotillion (I still resent this because Nancy never had to go). Over time, the city they didn’t plan on living in forever became home.

About three years ago, my dad told us his master plan of selling the house, moving to a city or town near the ocean, and buying a sailboat. Initially, all I could see from his master plan was that the house would not be our house anymore. The house with all the memories of my mom, the house that literally exemplified everything that was my mom, was going to be lived in by another family.

The next year and a half was busy. Nancy, my dad, and I went through every single thing in the house. And I mean everything. My mom treasured memories. This is just a nice way of me saying that she saved everything and had hoarding “tendencies.” It was all very tidy and organized, but it was ALL there. From the daily notes when I was an infant in daycare, to every piece of artwork Nancy and I ever made, to napkins from my parents wedding, to rocking horses and wagons made by my dad, our Little Tikes plastic kitchen, and even my mom’s sweet Paddington Bear straight from her trip to London as a little girl. There were times when it was enjoyable and funny to go through boxes of things we had never seen. And then there were times where I couldn’t look at another piece of silver or china without wanting to cry because nobody knew what to do with it. Also, we frequently didn’t know what things were. Did you know people used to have knife rests? Each person had their own silver box like thing to rest their knife on when they weren’t using it during meals.

We never left empty handed!

Nancy and I determined what we wanted, what my dad wanted, and what my aunts wanted. Then, we held two massive yard sales for the stuff that nobody wanted. We were selling so much stuff that multiple people asked us if it was a “multi-family” yard sale. Nope, just us. To cap it all off, my dad held an Estate Sale to sell the bigger pieces of furniture and fancy things like knife rests. During the midst of all this, my dad was traveling around the east coast to find a new place to call home. He visited multiple small towns and cities along the coast in North and South Carolina. When he narrowed it down, Nancy and I spent time with him in two cities trying to help him decide the pros and cons. After lots of travel, and many good options, he ultimately decided to make the move to Charleston, SC.

Playing with my toys before selling them at a yard sale. These weren't the "hot" items I had hoped they would be. Apparently plastic kitchens are way cooler now.

The house on Aberdeen was on the market for a month and a half before it was swooped up by a nice young family with two little girls. The two little girls were the same age that Nancy and I were when our family moved into the house. Meant to be? I think so. There were about two months from the time the house was sold to the time my dad actually moved. In these two months, I just kept thinking about how terrible moving day was going to be. I prepared myself for how awful it was going to be and how it would be so sad, blah, blah, blah.

Moving day came. I said goodbye to my bedroom that saw coats of pink, yellow, blue, and cream colored paint while I lived in it. I said goodbye to the dogwood tree that I researched for my third grade science project. I said goodbye to the mailbox my mom painted to look like a cow. And I said goodbye to the azalea bushes Nancy and I had our picture taken in front of every Easter. Nick and I were the chosen ones to drive Sam to Charleston (more on Sam later). We gave Sam a double dose of anti-anxiety medicine and loaded him into his crate as I said one last goodbye to the house on Aberdeen.

When I was in college and would leave home after a visit, my mom would always stand in the exact same place outside the garage and watch me back down the driveway. As I switched my car gear from “reverse” to “drive,” I would give a little honk on my horn and my mom would wave until I was up the hill and out of sight. Every single time I came home during or after college we had this same little routine. As Nick drove us away with Sam yelping and screetching in the back, I looked back and had that same memory of my mom waving away as if to say, “It will be ok. Go.” And then I was fine. The drive was fine (except for Sam’s incessant yelping) and I realized that I was indeed ok. I realized that the time I spent going through everything in the house was the time I needed. It gave me time to understand that the house on Aberdeen gave our family memories. Luckily, memories don’t have to be contained to the walls of a house.

Any inkling of sadness that may have existed over the house on Aberdeen was gone when we moved my dad into his new house in Charleston. He was so happy to have a fresh start and within a couple of months he found the perfect sailboat and became Captain Jeff. Never have I ever seen my dad as happy or excited as when this boat became his. He named the boat “Patience” and the numbers on her mainsail are 2259- my mom’s birthday. Sheer perfection, if you ask me. Over time, I realized that even though the house on Aberdeen is being lived in by another family, now we will have new memories to make in Charleston.

        

I don’t really have a good transition here, but I mentioned earlier there would be more about Sam, so here it is. My sister and I spent our entire childhood wanting a dog. We begged and pleaded to get a dog. My mom always said no because she didn’t want anything else to take care of or worry about. So, we spent our whole childhood dog-less. Yes, you should feel sad for us. The closest we got was having a giant dog bowl outside our sliding glass door that said, “Killer.” This is because Oprah recommended having a giant dog bowl as a defense against people breaking into your house. The addition of “Killer” was my mom’s idea.

Fast forward to Christmas 2008. I am a senior in college and Nancy is a senior in high school. We headed over to a family friend’s house for Christmas Eve dinner and my dad was acting really weird. On the drive to their house he kept saying, “Abby and Nancy, you guys are going to love your Christmas present this year.” We were convinced we were getting a Wii. We walk into their house and we are greeted by this itty bitty adorable black fluffy puppy wearing reindeer antlers. My dad said, “Merry Christmas! He’s yours!” For most people, this would be a great moment. Cameras would be flashing, everyone would be hugging, the dog would be giving everyone kisses.

The exact opposite happened. My mom screamed, “WHAT?? You’re kidding. You didn’t talk to me about this?!” I could go on, but this would be R rated if I wrote the language that she actually screamed. My parents disappeared and discussed this for quite some time. The ride home with the adorable itty bitty puppy was awkward and quiet. This awkwardness went on for a couple days. Nancy and I said we would send the itty bitty puppy back to the farm he came from because things were so weird. Finally, we had a “family meeting” where my mom said the itty bitty puppy, who got the name Sam, could stay. As long as: she never had to feed him, she never had to take him outside, and she never had to take him to the vet. Basically, he could live in the same house as her and breathe the same air as her as long as she was not responsible for him.

So Sam stayed. And the ‘funniest’ part of all of this is that while Sam is adorable and hypoallergenic, he is bad and he is kind of weird. He ate his fair number of shoes, he chewed on rugs, he broke window panes trying to chase squirrels, chewed on beautiful maple and cherry wood furniture my dad built, peed everywhere, ran around the house in circles while continuously barking, and had (well...still has) difficulty going on walks because he lunges and attempts to attack all moving objects and animals. As time went on, Sam chewed on things less, learned to go to the bathroom outside, and even was brave enough to learn how to use a dog door- it just took Nancy two weeks to teach him that you could also go back IN the dog door from the outside.  

I still don’t think my mom would admit to any of this, so what I am about to tell you is merely my speculation about her relationship with Sam. When my mom got sick again, she was home more often and spent more time resting around the house. Amidst this, she sent me this picture text of Sam laying his head next to her when she was resting on the couch that said, “Look who is keeping me company today.”

Also, there was a little dog named Buffy who lived down the street and belonged to an older woman who my mom watched out for. My mom would write little notes with dog bones taped to them that said, “To: Buffy, Love: Sam.” Sam and Buffy would then get together for “play dates.” My mom claimed this was because it made Buffy’s owner happy, but I secretly think it made my mom happy too. While Sam had an unwelcomed arrival into our family and my mom wanted nothing to do with him, over time he grew on her. Again, I am speculating, but I think the aforementioned stories show a little bit of her change of heart.

Sam and Buffy on a play-date organized by MY MOM

What is so amazing about Sam is how much he helps all of us. Sam is the best comedic relief during hard or stressful situations. Sam greets you smiling (he really does smile like a human), sitting, and wagging his tail when you walk in the door. The minute he sees a squirrel, he runs out his dog door and around the house trying to catch it, which is hilarious to watch because he is so determined even though he has failed so, so many times (he has caught one- we think it was a senior citizen squirrel). Sam and my dad are buddies. Sam often whines when my dad is not in his sight. Probably because my dad spoils him rotten with bacon grease poured over his food and refrigerated dog treats. When Sam came into our family he was possibly the worst thing that ever happened. And then, over time, he evolved into the best thing that ever happened to each one of us. If you're reading this and thinking, "Gosh, they are weirdly obsessed with their dog that they became 'those' weird dog people"...you are correct. The hardest part of this blog was narrowing down how many pictures of Sam I could post. Also, I know it's so inappropriate that we let him on the couch. But it just happens.

  

I don’t know why I write these blog posts every year near the time that my mom left us for a cooler place. Four years ago, I needed this blog (ok, you did too, but I NEEDED it). Now, I don’t need it. I could go into tomorrow without posting this and I would be ok. Inevitably, the time period of February to March every year is just a little bit harder than the rest of the year. It’s hard to go through February and March without thinking about what we all went through during that time period four years ago. It’s like I’m drawn back to this blog during this time of year as a form of self-therapy. Is that a thing? Can a non-doctor, average person provide therapy to themselves? Whatever- I’m making it a thing.