Merger

Today's the day I give up part of myself. Today is the official day of "No Turning Back." Today is the day I solidify a rather unsatisfying relationship.

The Boy is moving all of the rest of his belongings into my home today and he has tenants moving in to his tomorrow.

I love The Boy. We all know that. We also have a well-established cyber-blog-trail of everything that's wrong with "us," so there's no need for me to get into all of that. But I'm still not entirely sure I'm ready for this.

Something had to happen, though, because we live about 45 miles apart. He bought a house in a new neighborhood way the hell out, further than anyone wants to drive. Because the land was cheap and the houses were too, the neighborhood filled up with rather undesirable people. As a result, I had no desire to be up there, and it's a pain to pack up the dogs, the gas I was wasting was ridiculous, and I still had to come home every day because of the fish.

And, besides...my house is bigger and only 10 minutes away from his job.

When you boil down The Boy's life into belongings, there really aren't that many. I find that to be a little sad. Not that he's not a packrat, but just that he doesn't have that many tangible items that mean a lot to him.

My ex-husband was the same way, but even moreso. When The Jackass moved in with me, he brought clothes, and one box of 'stuff.' The box had random papers just tossed in, some pictures, a folder with his birth certificate and some other personal things in it, and a fabric banner of the famous dogs playing pool picture. Everything else he had was literally junk. The TV stand was held together with duct tape. His TV was a tiny 13" with a built-in VCR that didn't work. His futon mattress sans futon was old and had a huge patch of mildew on one corner. The loveseat was ripped on one end and was sort of hijacked by his then-roommates.

Very few possessions, to me, sets off an alarm of instability, vagrancy, and irresponsibility. Especially when that person says they used to have those things - like actual bed pillows - but "something happened" and now they don't.

So when The Boy started moving down here, I paid very close attention to all the things he had in boxes. Most consisted of his military career: papers upon papers upon papers, pins, clips, ties, uniform pieces, ALICE packs, and so forth. And a lot of it was just random crap that you could tell had been packed up at another location, moved, stored, and never gone through again until just now.

The difference here is that I see items from all stages of The Boy's life, not just the last 3 years. He may not have collected a lot of junk, but that's okay too. I mean, he moved all the way across the country right after getting out of the military and has been single and working his ass off ever since; not a whole lot of time to accumulate a mess.

And he does have some nice things, too. I have a gun safe in one of my closets already and today we're moving his down here, into another closet. He has a safe full of guns. He also has 3 Snap-On tool boxes full of tools. That means he doesn't sell things off or pawn them, like The Jackass did. It also shows responsibility, because he has many high-quality guns, and he keeps them locked up, instead of hidden somewhere in the house where any criminal could find them (i don't keep kids around the house. they're detestable!). The Jackass had one cheap-ass Kel-Tec pistol and he kept it "hidden" in his bedside table drawer - real original, huh? I told him not to buy that stupid thing, but he didn't listen to me. That was the time we were living in the condo and I couldn't put a safe in there without risking it falling through the floor into my neighbor's house, so I kept my guns in my dad's safe at his house.

Funny how I swore I'd never compare them, and yet I am.

I just look at these few boxes of possessions, most of which are getting thrown away or shredded, and it makes me a little sad. I have pictures literally all over my house. Every wall has photos or paintings on them. The paintings were done by either me or my great-grandmother. All the photos are of my friends and family. I have a ton of pieces of antique furniture that were passed down through the generations - some of which were built by my cabinetmaker ancestor! I have items that I worked hard to save up for, some that I worked hard to find, and some that mean absolutely nothing to anybody but me. But my whole home is filled with my life, and my family's life. When you walk in my house, you can see it's lived in and that it's got history.

Really weird, for a single, childless woman. But that's how it is.

I work pretty hard at keeping things clutter-free and I've grown new balls when it comes to throwing things out. I still have a lot of stuff, though. A LOT of stuff. (The Boy thinks he's going to put some stuff in the closets upstairs. Heh. He has NO IDEA that they're full! LOL!)

I have no children to inherit my stuff when I die. I have no children to rifle through and argue over my stuff when I die. I'm maintaining the heritage of my family because I enjoy the pieces, the furniture, the legacy. But no one else will care. Besides someone (i wonder who) selling all my antiques and paintings to random people in an estate sale, what will the world have to prove that I was alive?

I mean, at least I have stuff, and I'm a teacher, so I'm making at least some kind of minimal impact on the world. The Jackass only has a son he pretends to care about when it suits him and that kid should celebrate when Jackass finally dies: he'll get a very small life insurance payout - not even enough to pay for the therapy he'll need to undo all the damage Jackass has done to him. The Boy - what does he have? If, God forbid, he were gone tomorrow, what legacy has he left the world?

An even better question: Does any of it even matter?

Doubtful. And, truly, I'm okay with that. My job is to live my life while I'm here. To help when I can, to learn lessons, to have fun and LIVE. Whatever happens after I die...well...that's nothing I need to be concerned about, now is it?