Important anniversary and airing of grievances

So, as of last week, Danny has officially lived here longer than my ex did. This is important to me, time being the great healer that it is. Time is movement, a wise friend once advised, and so it is; these past two years have moved me forward, up and over my horrible hump, and now I'm running and skipping and dancing along.

That being said: the month of August also marks the second anniversary of the death of my stepmother. We went to Wichita this weekend to celebrate my dad's retirement, and I was shocked at how time's movement over the past two years has not impacted my father. The house was in a state that I'm ashamed to recount; but its hard to expect an immaculate home from someone who has had a wife to take care of that for the past 40 years. I hate to generalize, but his generation often sticks to their assigned gender roles, and it doesn't matter if you teach him how to operate the washing machine and the dishwasher, he just doesn't know how to maintain a household. I feel compelled to add that part of what makes it so hard for him to keep the household immaculate is the presence of knick-knacks on every surface. Sheila was a hard-core decorator; there are doilies and "collections" everywhere: teacups, bells, angels, baskets... stuff that a crusty 62-year-old man should not have to worry about dusting (not that he's a big duster.) But he won't let it go, isn't ready to close that chapter, he says.

But, I'm ready for it to close. There were reminders all over of the marginalization that occurred in that family where my brother and I are concerned. For example: photographs. On many, many surfaces were framed pictures of everyone but Jason and I, including photos of people Sheila had referred to as their "adopted" kids and grandkids. Not a single photo of Elise or Danny and I. But, plenty of photos from the photo session that occurred when we were together over Christmas in Dallas, where I was excluded from the family photo (after driving 10 hours to be there, no less.) Those photographs burn me up, and I want to let my dad know that. But, its in the past, I should probably just let it be (right?)