Aftermath

The walls are so white. During the day, they reflect light like alabaster snow. At night, the street lamp casts gray shadows throughout the room's nooks and crannies. I prefer the night. Life is too distinct in the daylight.

Before, my surroundings were a comfort. Three walls of my library were filled with bookshelves filled with books, providing insulation from outdoor temperatures. The library felt calm, even on the hottest of summer days.

My bedroom floor was lined with the vinyl albums I had purchased since 1964. "Meet the Beatles" was the first. I bought a new vinyl album in 2017 called "Blues" by the Rolling Stones. There were hundreds of albums in my collection although vinyl was not available for many years in-between. There were several years that I didn't have a turntable to play them on. There were years when only CDs were available. But I always had all my albums. A friend of a friend had offered to buy them all for a dollar each. I told my friend that I hadn't kept my albums for so long to sell them. There were newspaper clippings, concert ticket stubs, and pictures stored in the album jackets. I'd even kept the lyrics my best friend and I had written out when I was 12. In those days, you had to put the needle on the record, listen to as much as you could remember, pick the needle up, write what you thought you heard, then try to find the spot on the track where you had left off. It was a painstaking joy.

My cats had walked across them, sharpened their claws, and laid down comfortably for a nap. A few album covers were slightly water damaged. I had bought them from Woolco Department Store after Hurricane Carla ripped the roof off the store, leaving album covers slightly damp and torn with the paper peeling off. The records played fine. When I had my hysterectomy I reached for a Rita Coolidge album, and not being very strong I spilled a whole glass of milk on her. I never forgave myself for that.

They were all gone now.

So were all my kitchen items. I'm not an obsessive cook since most of the time I lived alone. By now I had inherited two sets of China from my aunts. My mother left me her mixer, her waffle iron, her grill, and everything one need to perform a variety of food creations. The real silverware was gone. Everything was gone, even the "I Love Lucy" juice glasses I purchased on eBay. I could never replace what I lost. Reminders of being in the kitchen with my mom were no more.

I had a huge walk-in closet in my apartment. Because of weight changes over the years I had every size from six to 18, in every season. I never parted with any of my clothes. My weight fluctuated, and there was always the possibility I could fit into any of them again. I managed to retain about a week's worth of clothes. The formal wear was gone. All of my rock and roll t-shirts were gone. I'm 5' 10", and most of the clothes had been purchased from eBay because I could find items that would actually fit. I'd been a model in my 20s. My clothes were very important to me.

I tried not to dwell on the losses, but I couldn't erase the pain. I don't think I ever cried about it. The losses were too great, and there was nothing I could do now

.My loyal, loving black Lab "Shadow" was taken to the vet and rehomed.