I wake up to Mom’s text on Sunday morning:

We’re getting underway with the fence project, help would be appreciated.

For months now there’s been a new project almost every week. Nobody says it but these projects are only happening now because ever since Mom and Dad split, it’s only a matter of time before they sell the house. 

Laundry moved to the basement. Second floor hall torn down to the studs. Tile, closet, window crudely ripped from downstairs bathroom.

Any trace of Dad is gone too.

So many unfinished projects, my house starts to feel more and more like Tyler Durden’s dilapidated place on Paper Street. Except there’s no imaginary machismo here to deliver me from my parents’ mess.

This new “fence project” has me helping Grampie extend the old fence with new panels and posts. I know Grampie’s only taken charge because Dad’s not here, but Grampie tells me stories while we dig the postholes, and he teaches me the best way to drill the brackets before we lift them into place. It’s fun. In two afternoons the fence is finished. Mom comes out to admire it, and Grampie tells me we did a good job, before he leaves. I’m proud for a moment.

But when I follow Mom back inside, the house still looks like it’s falling apart.

[originally written 8/25]