After my father died, I flew to New York to spend a week getting his home in order. Each day, I filled boxes with his books, my heart emptying with each shelf. Each night, I cried myself to sleep in his bed. I felt caught between my desire to return home and my desire to stay there, with him. I arrived back at the Detroit airport in a fragile state, knowing my husband would be at work; my grief and I would have to cab home. But then my phone dinged with my husband’s message: “Be there at 5.” — Debbie Feit

Positively Purging-I welcome your feedbacks in the comments and your likes and passing the real life wisdom on to others as I embark on this new venture of “positively purging“, as I know each of these pieces represents something…