I was not raised in a barn, or by circus clowns, or by hobos. I have impeccable manners when I need to, two different Emily Post reference books, and can differentiate engraving from thermography from across a room.
What I do not have is an iota of sentiment. I don’t even know how to fake it. I only learned the concept of “too soon” by seeing other people tear up when I asked about their new dog, and have also learned that not every family replaces pets within 24 hours.
We always had a dog growing up. For 16 years we had a smallish black poodle/rat terrier mix named Ashes, who was my dad’s constant companion. Dad would sing opera (really just “O solo mio, dum de dum dum” over and over again), and Ashes would throw back his head and howl along. They shared popsicles. The dog got old and blind, and one night was hit by a car in front of our house. My father sat on the deck with Ashes in his lap and cried like a baby, like he had never cried before. We sat around him, sobbing and helpless.
And the next day we got Lars. So these are my people.
Tomorrow I go to pack my mother for her move to North Carolina. We will throw away her wedding dress, pictures, papers, gifts, books, and anything left that belonged to my father (tennis trophies and handkerchiefs, mostly). It will be the last time I’ll see the house on the river, or sit at the countertop drinking box wine and eating cheese cubes.
What emotions does a normal person experience at a time like this? I am genuinely curious, but wouldn’t trade away this weird handicap. Right now it feels like my superpower.