This year as we stumbled to get the Christmas decorations down from the attic we realized that after 10 years in one house...we have collected a lot of junk that is taking up space for no reason. So after we took the decorations back up, it was time to get organized. I came across my save boxes - four large rubbermaid totes - packed with things from my birth through college years. We hauled the boxes down to the dining room table and I began the sorting process. I had saved elementary school artwork and projects, scrapbooks and don't forget my sticker collection, college art portfolios, and just about every card or letter anyone had ever given me.
What I have now, after sorting through all of my dad's things, is perspective. This perspective, however morbid it may seem, forced me to think about how I would feel about someone else having to dig through all my junk after I die. I started sorting and throwing the majority of it away, and at the end of the day I was emotionally spent. I hadn't really given much thought to what it was going to be like for those memories to surface again; childhood memories tied to the home I lived in for two decades of my life, the awkward adolescence and high school years, memories from summer camp where Dan and I met, my parents divorce, my amazing and carefree college experience at Iowa, the passing of my grandparents - everything and every decision of course compounded by the unexpected passing of my dad five years ago now.
I saved my most favorite things, keeping in mind that whatever I decided to keep had to make me happy, or might be fun to show my kids when they are older. Anything not fitting that criteria went in the trash. I ended up condensing things down to 1 rubbermaid container. As exhausted as I was at the end of it, in many ways it felt like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It felt good to let go.
I read every card and letter, hoping to find something amazing. I did. If you have been reading letters I have written to my dad (here and here) you will probably understand how much finding this means to me. This letter he wrote me, something I haven't read since he gave it to me nearly 16 years ago, is still very relative today. It's something that he not only wished for me, but for all of those he loved.
 |
| Graduation day U of Iowa '00 |
 |
| Dad's Westmar College graduation photo '69 |
 |
| I feel like your pants are a little short, college boy. |
:: amy
ps. All this college talk has me thinking. I was good at painting. I should do that again.
No comments:
Post a Comment