Closing A Door

This week has been spent packing up the office. We will be moving to new space tomorrow. It's been an emotional time for me. Lou's office was in this space for seven years. For Lou, it was really only three before he got sick for the next two years, and then, not with us for the last two. This was never really Lou's office. His place was in the landmark Wrigley building, just a few doors from this office. He was there for 18 years and then they wouldn't renew his lease and he had to move. THAT was difficult. Lou never liked change, and he loved that building. That building was Lou. This building was not. Nonetheless, the office space itself had the feeling of Lou, and of course, we tried to maintain much of the feel of his original office space in the Wrigley. This office has the memory of when Lou got sick. Of the times I brought him in, and we pretended all was well. When we arranged to have certain clients call to talk to him on the phone so he thought he was back in action. From that standpoint, it is good to leave. I hate thinking about those times, about him, like that. Nonetheless, it is hard to leave. It is hard to close the door. Another part of Lou is disappearing. That is the problem. I hate that. I hate it so much. I've cried so much this week and I can't quite figure it out. I was not prepared for this response. I don't really like that office all that much, the space was never quite right for our group. But it's still hard to leave. I had to go through some of his things. They were put away long ago when it became obvious he would not be back. The notes that were on his desk. His pens and old pipes, artifacts. Pictures. Golf trophies. Notes and more notes. Lou was his own blackberry I always like to say. That tiny writing of his. His and my mom's phone numbers, both on a tiny piece of paper, in his blotter. A very old picture of me looking very very young. So many pictures. Good times. Love. Family. Lou. It seems, at times, it really does get harder as time goes on. The finality of it doesn't really settle in until time has past. When you begin to close doors, you realize that part of your life really is over. Closing a door is a hard thing to do.