What do you do when you lend out your most sentimental belonging to someone you trust, believing all the while that they are going to take care of it....and you get it back torn to pieces, and it smells like cat urine and B.O.?
My plans for this couch were to keep it forever. This couch meant a lot to me, not because of it's monetary value; although it was worth more than I would ever spend on a single piece of furniture. Rather, it meant a lot to me because my last memory of my grandmother was us sitting on that couch on Thanksgiving (a week before she died). I didn't get to say good-bye to her. In a sense, this was a piece of my history that I wanted to keep with me, to keep her close to me always.
I'm not as sentimental about the rest of my furniture...I could do without furniture, actually. The couch isn't even my style, but I love it dearly for the prize memory it holds within its putrid, mangled frame.
Here I am, though...just arrived at home to finally take a look at it. It's completely unsalvageable. I could change the upholstery, but it wouldn't get rid of the cat urine smell. I could treat it for the smell, but then it would loose it's sterdiness and be unstable for seating. My father commanded me to get rid of it tomorrow.
I'll have to take it apart because I will have no one to help me carry it down a flight of stairs. I have no other choice. I'll have to take a crow-bar to it and get it into 3 or 4 pieces in order to fit it into my car and take it to a dumpster.
This is deeply saddening me.
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