This weekend, my sweet baby gave up all three days of his beautiful, extended weekend to help me dig through 30 years of rubbish that was piled up in my room. We unearthed everything from song books for kids written in french to journals I wrote in high school; pictures of me getting a perm in college and tapes upon tapes upon tapes (yes, cassette tapes) that I collected when I was in the business. I remembered where I got everything, and why in hindsight I may have wanted to hold on to certain things. But for most things, their memory is etched in my brain. I have no need of the physical items to reminds me anymore. So I threw them mostly all away. 13 boxes (moving boxes) worth of stuff… whittled down to 1 box and a duffle bag of my arts and crafts stuff. I still have 2 or 3 boxes to go thru but these boxes were in my closet, thus making it impossible for me to store… i dunno… CLOTHING… so now that’s alleviated. We did come across the folder from the clinic where I got my d&c back in 99. I didn’t realize how much that still REALLY hurt. I flipped through it and started to cry. A lot. And he held me, quietly and told me it was okay… and that our future was bright REGARDLESS. But still, and more importantly, he let me cry to him. I hadn’t cried to anyone about it. All those tears I kept to myself mostly. But he let me do it. And when I was done, allowed me to go back to normal so I wouldn’t stay in self pity mode all day. We accumulated 5 bags of clothing to send down to the folks in Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi and threw away a lot of old baggage.
My room is starting to look easier and easier to pack up… and that was the goal. Hallelujah!