Three Years Later

Three years ago I managed to keep putting bits of mail, papers, forms, information and other effects into a large laundry basket.  It was bits and pieces of your life.  Before I knew it, the basket had become almost over flowing with stuff I just wasn't ready to get rid of or even revisit, for that matter. You know I've always been a master at avoidance, even if it wasn't really benefiting me.  So when I moved to a new place, the basket moved too, just taking a spot at the end of the bed.  It wasn't long before an old blanket was folded and put on top of it, and then a coat, and a towel, and yes, you guessed it, the basket was soon out of sight.  Unless some "do-gooder" would come along and try to help me get organized.  More than once over the past three years I've said, "those are just important papers, don't mess with them!"

After a week in the mountains, enjoying the views and remembering how much you enjoyed living, I decided it was time to face the basket once and for all.  I had held onto every letter from the court or the lawyer.  I couldn't part with anything that had your hand writing on it, whether it was random doodling or your signature on your taxes. Even a CD I salvaged from your wrecked car that had dried blood on it, I felt compelled to keep.  I won't lie, it wasn't easy.  There were some tears, chest pains and lots of anxiety, but I pressed on until I had looked at everything and made a decision about where it belonged.    I managed to fill up a large black trash bag of papers I didn't need to hold onto any longer.  The things I kept were organized and given a home.

I came across a notebook I had tossed into the basket at some point.  There was a list I had made in January of 2018, about 6 months after you died along with a lengthy poem I had written about the intersection where you lost your life.    It was a bittersweet memory.  I had driven to the intersection of Hwy 8, 88 and 81 on a January morning to just sit and reflect.  I parked next to an old building and watched traffic go by.  I had scribbled rhyming lines of several pages, but in the end realized there was no reason to memorialize that intersection because your life was so much more than the tragic ending.

God is faithful!  I was able to work through the memories without getting distracted by a weeks worth of melancholy. It;s an odd feeling to explain, but after finishing putting everything where it needed to go, I felt alive.  As if I've moved past another milestone in my grief.