I love my house but I’ve needed new carpet for several years. It’s not that we don’t take care of the carpet. It’s that I’ve had many geriatric pets over the years who have had their share of “accidents.” So when we finally took the financial plunge to get the carpet replaced so we can SELL OUR HOUSE, I thought I’d be jumping for joy. Instead, I had a surprising stirring of emotions.
Today’s (Optional) Writing Prompt: Write about something that you unexpectedly had a hard time saying goodbye to.
Here we go…
Everyone gets attached to things, I suppose. I know I do. I have crammed drawers and boxes to prove it. In a way, I think I understand hoarders. Not really understand them but sort of understand them. It’s emotional attachment and it’s usually misplaced.
I think I do the same thing. I keep things. Mementos, receipts, ticket stubs – all of these things to try and capture that one moment in time. I don’t know why I want to capture it, other than happy memories, of course. Maybe it’s that I want to have the ability to relive those moments.
So why would old smelly carpet make me feel sentimental? Honestly, those stains are memories of all of the things, good and bad, that we’ve experienced in almost 9 years. The stains where our dog Einstein used to frequently mark if he was unsupervised. It was a compulsion. He couldn’t help it. It made us insane and was the first step to destroying our carpet. But Einstein has been gone almost 5 years now and all we have left are memories.
Holden was the good dog. The dog that would surely outlive Einstein. And he did but not without thyroid problems and the need for medications that made him drink and pee excessively. Then he lost his sight and his hearing and some of his mental capacity. He didn’t know if he was coming or going. And he would often stop and forget he was indoors and flood the carpet.
We didn’t live in filth. My most recent carpet cleaner cost $400. It was worth the investment and most people couldn’t even tell we had pets.
There are also spots where Sean tried to actually bleach the carpet (even though I specifically told him not to). Places where Evan had a stomach virus (yuck). Places where he spilled chocolate milk or Sean spilled red wine. Spots where I splashed paint on the carpet.
I know it’s ridiculous and I know that it’s going to be much worse when I leave this house, in terms of sentiment. Maybe it’s good to let it go. To give us a clean slate in this house while we let the memories fade. And after all, it does smell better.