“Personification occurs when something nonhuman is described with human characteristics. Anthropomorphism refers to a nonhuman entity consciously behaving like a human.”
As a single mom, I swore I’d keep our old house until the plumbing or electrical systems failed.
My house heard me and fought against her own aging, but she knew it was time to go before I did.
***
When the terminally ill are ready to die, the work of letting go belongs to the loved ones left behind. My house reminds me of this daily, but denial fights to occupy my every waking moment.
Right now, she is no longer mine. I had to sell because my tax bill outgrew my income!
***
When an elderly person is forced to move from their long-time home, they are limited in what they can take. For me, choosing is both excruciating and comforting.
Since childhood, I’ve been a Memory Keeper, hoarding boxes of crayoned notes, clothes, even pieces of our Star Pine tree, my secret refuge.
When I became a Psychotherapist, I realized I’d be helping others sort through their own memories.
Using a “Healthy Family” metaphor, together we’d dig through traumatic childhood incidents to change unhealthy decisions they’d made based on those early wounds.
I saved a pile of memorabilia from hundreds of clients; their photographs, artwork, therapy agreements, and totems from the Group Room where they’d “grown up again”.
***
I’ve had to practice what I preach lately. One thing I taught clients is to ask unconditionally for what they want or need.
I scheduled “House Cooling Parties” and asked my clients to come get tokens they’d left for safe keeping, or anything that anchored the therapy lessons we’d co-created in their experiential “second childhoods”.
And they came.
They came to see the old group room and they took soft cozy blankets, rocks and shells, artwork, candles and books. I was proud when A. asked for the fluffy white rug we all sat on for therapy sessions.
As a professional Memory Keeper, I’d saved it all–their Christmas and birthday cards, and angry letters, never to be delivered to abusive parents. They reclaimed their therapy contracts, their childhood photos and pictures of their own babies, many whose births I had attended.
The hardest part was returning the gifts they’d given me, treasures I had cherished all these years, as meaningful to me as grade school refrigerator art.
***
Teachers and therapists rarely know how things turn out unless their students or clients come back to tell them.
When “Crash” burst in and said, “Hi Mom, I’m home!”, I cried.
C. showed up after 22 years. She drove 3 hours. I attended the birth of her unexpected 5th child. At 85, she’s still a gorgeous, feisty woman and that fifth baby has children of her own.
M. was never my client, but her birth father was. They reunited during his therapy with me. He’s gone now but she keeps in touch because I am one of her dad’s mothers. She and her husband, carrying on the adoption legacy, brought their amazing daughter!
Coaching clients D. and C. came. I officiated at their wedding, and D became my Computer Guru. He doesn’t know about Corrective Parenting, but he calls me his “second mom” anyway.
Many came, but several were missing. Isn’t the goal of “parenting” for our kids to no longer need us?
***
There were sweet reunions during the House Cooling’s, and I heard of many other continued connections. Their bonds were formed in battle, because the deep-trauma therapy they shared was war against fierce childhood demons.
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My house grumbled after the last gathering. She sprung a leak in the water heater, clogged a toilet, and all the basement lights started flickering.
Her plumbing and electrical systems are failing.
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She is an Organ Donor. Before the builder comes, friends are surgically removing parts of her that will be reused, transplanted into new low-cost homes.
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When I grieve these days, it is excruciating! I go outside and let my tears fall onto the ground, to infuse the soil with meaning for the next owners. I want their house to be haunted with the healing energy, and love that happened here for hundreds of previous temporary “residents”.
Love Ghosts! The thought is so comforting.
***
When people ask what work I did for 53 years, I say, “I loved people for a living.”
And most of it, right here in this house.
