Of Value

It was just a number....but it made me cry and that reaction caught me completely off guard, more so  considering Superman and I were sitting in Wendy's for lunch.

{"Have you read the email about your Dad's house?"...shaking my head, Grant handed me his phone to read the email....Scrolling through an appraisal for my Dad's house, 20 plus pages of numbers, check marks and pictures...there at the bottom...was the approximate market value of my Dad's house as of April 15th...}

A number, I had to enlarge the print to see...

I hand back the phone and blink back my tears. Grant looks at the email and then at me...completely perplexed..."Are you happy or sad?" I shake my head and at that moment my Superman recognizes the grief I am unable to hide (dang it)...

Why grief? At that moment I didn't quite understand it myself....

Estate stuff has always overwhelmed me....and I hate anything remotely related to the following question...

"Soooo how much do you think you'll get from your Dad (estate)?" Yes this is the world's tackiest question (don't do it, trust me on this one) and yes  I have been asked it on more than one occasion, by more than one person, about more than one parent. I used to be polite, now I'm not. {None of your dam% business}I'm the only one allowed to wonder, I guess? But the thought of equating a life to a financial sum just seems plain wrong

But whether I like it or not, we are required to determine the value of my Dad's estate, his worth...

Now I know it's only a financial number, but to me it's sad money...

And at first, that was what I thought my tears were about...but then I realized that I had instantly been taught a lesson on value.

Six months ago when I walked back in that home, after 20 years, I (we) were met with an overwhelming disaster. Garbage, rodents, filth brought us to our knees. What my Dad had left behind felt like a daunting burden, rather than a gift.  Through a miracle of many hands and tender mercies and hard work we were able to clear the house. But as we left I could see very little value in the structure that had been our childhood home.

With court approval this month, we finally have permission to prepare the house for sale, thus the appraisal...

For something that we had thought had little or no value, considering the filth and deplorable conditions my parents chose (to some degree) live in, the number at the bottom of the email proved us completely wrong...

It's value was just hidden underneath the years of neglect...a value that even with that neglect had only increased...

Tears came as I thought of that house....

and then more tears came as I thought of the last picture of my Dad before we took him out of that house....

 Just like his house had value I couldn't see or understand, because of all the clutter...That man who had been ravaged by the effects of dementia and alcohol, the man I barely recognized and was forced to say goodbye to, was still my father.

My father weighed down by this life was still of great worth and the value of his love had not been lost.

That's what the tears were about, not the email and not the number, but a remembering of what true value was.

A lesson in value, I really needed.