Updated: Feb. 19, 2021
Originally Published: June 28, 2015
“This is a fresh start. I want it,” I encourage my father, who is visibly anxious. “Say it,” I prompt him.
“This is a fresh start. I want it,” he echoes back, albeit with hesitance.
It’s the eve of his significant move from New Jersey to Long Island to be nearer to us. Despite having pushed for this transition, he radiates stress like an electric current.
Just then, the doorbell chimes loudly, breaking our moment. It’s my husband and our two younger sons returning from a trip to the park. My youngest, with a beaming grin that matches the wild curls bursting from his helmet, peeks in through the window. He’s been trying out his new roller skates, and the excitement is palpable. I open the door and place a finger to my lips, signaling for quiet. He nods, still smiling, then clumsily makes his way over for a hug, managing to lift my spirits despite his wobbly stance.
Weeks earlier, I’d asked my father to select a single box of books or tapes he couldn’t part with—a daunting task for a hoarder. “How about three boxes?” he negotiates.
“Let’s start with just one,” I reply.
“What about five? Can I have five boxes?”
“Most likely, but let’s see you fill one first.”
Instead of packing, he spent the days bartering over box counts and rummaging through items to donate. On the night of the move, not a single box had been packed. But honestly, it doesn’t bother me. His current place is a chaotic mess; the more he takes, the quicker this new space will become cluttered.
“Dad, you don’t need all that anymore. Let’s make a fresh start,” I urge.
“But collecting these things is all I’ve done. I know it’s small, but it matters,” he responds, sounding both regretful and rational.
“You’ll discover new things that matter,” I assure him, glancing outside where my middle son and husband are tossing a ball back and forth in the twilight. My son leaps back to catch a high throw, capturing the last of the day’s light.
“I need to find a purpose. I have no purpose,” he laments. “Filling these boxes is just too hard. It’s painful.”
“I understand,” I soothe, unsure of where my newfound calmness comes from. These past weeks have seen me gaining weight, sprouting gray hairs, and battling cold sores while I reached out to social services, doctors, and elderly care advocates. We were diving headfirst into this change without a clear plan.
“Don’t worry. I’ve gotten you all new things. You’ll have everything you need,” I promise. As I pass the study, I hear my eldest son practicing his haftarah for his upcoming bar mitzvah, his voice filled with beauty and hope that nearly brings me to tears.
“This is a fresh start,” my father repeats the mantra, this time with more conviction. “I want it.” I take in the love surrounding me and think, if this doesn’t ignite joy in him, then nothing will.
“Good,” I affirm. “Because tomorrow it begins…”
This article was originally published on June 28, 2015.
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Summary
The article recounts the emotional journey of a daughter helping her father transition to a new life closer to her family. As her father grapples with anxiety and a hoarding mindset, she encourages him to embrace change and discover new purposes. It explores themes of family, support, and the challenges of letting go.
Keyphrase: “helping dad move”
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