I had a burst of energy that sunny, November morning. It was Saturday, at 7 am, and a few restorative sips of coffee under my belt found me knee-deep in old boots, coats, and sports equipment as I had ambitiously decided to tackle my entryway closet. I spent an hour purging it of many of the things that I had binged on through the years and the “give-away” pile was growing; not nearly as quickly as the “keep” pile, but I was pretty satisfied with myself, and my progress, until I found an old pillowcase, shoved way in the back. Inside, were the vestiges of my life, and my little families life, and the physical reminders of them that I’d chosen to keep.
I remembered then, that I’d thrown it in there many years ago, after a strikingly similar botched organizational attempt left me so sick of sorting through everything that I thrown the whole mess in to deal with later. Well, later had come…albeit many years later. Except this time, I finished my task and was quite pleased with my efforts as I sat down, and sipping my now cooled coffee, sorted through that old pillowcase (why I had used a pillowcase, I really can’t say) full of things from the back of the closet. Most were school papers from the kids, things that I found impossible to toss then, and difficult to throw away even now, although at least half of the drawings didn’t have a name and only by subject matter, or personal style could I identify the artist; intricate perfectionist drawings half-finished by our son, slapdash but completed works of art by our daughter.
Amongst the schoolwork and report cards decades of years old, I found crumbling baby teeth, the “tooth fairy” was unwilling to part with, locks of baby hair, that I guessed to be our daughters because it was not blonde like our sons, miniature arm bands, worn by our babies in the hospital and even, to my great chagrin, two, + pregnancy test sticks. Clearly, I am a person with a heaping helping of sentimentality, who is prone to tidal waves of nostalgia. My husband, is not so much, and calls me a packrat. However, he has a romantic streak, which this pragmatic girl does not, as evidenced by multiple little cards that come with flowers in the pile sent to me, by him, many of which expressed a remorseful, apologetic tone, while still others, gushing declarations of affection. There were also several love letters, one of which was in an envelope with a return address of “heartbreak hotel” at “I miss you, USA, ” with a “county jail” stamp emblazoned across the front. What can I say? A long marriage is full of ups and downs.
They were all things, that for one reason or another, I’d chosen to keep. Things that although I’d felt were important enough to store for almost three decades, I had not looked at, or thought of in many, many years. They were tangible reminders of the feelings they had once evoked, and I must have felt that if I threw them away, I’d be throwing away the emotion itself.
When I was younger, I was foolish enough to believe that the best things in life came in packages, things that could be wrapped up, with a bow on top. I thought happiness was tied up that way. After all, things are tangible and can be enjoyed for a long time as opposed to experiences and ideas, which were either too fleeting and expensive, or too abstract for this practical girl to embrace. What I didn’t know then, was that objects lose their luster as we become used to having them, and so we crave more. The shininess wears off, revealing cheap plastic underneath, which we toss away with one hand while reaching out for something new with the other.
As I’ve grown older and a little wiser, I have come to realize that the abstracts in life are truly what we desire. Love, joy, faith, hope, loyalty, friendship, family, and memories…not one of these things can be bought, but all are trully precious. These things did not have as much value when I was younger, many of them were not thought of at all, but as wisdom increases, many of us realize that we’ve taken for granted many priceless possessions. The expectation of our youth gives way to the gratefulness of old age for the intangible things. Things that we have discovered, are all that matter, and the only things worth holding on to. We eventually learn the secret to one of life’s mysteries…that the imperceptible gifts of love, joy and friendship we give to each other, come back to us so multiplied, they are nearly palpable.
Sneezing as I looked at each photo, read every card, and fondled the broken teeth, I contemplated throwing it all in the trash, but I knew that I couldn’t do it. Stuffing everything back into the pillowcase, I wedged it all back in the corner of the closet, knowing full well that someday my children would come across these things after my death, or when they moved me into a nursing home, and wonder why in the world I’d decided to keep such ridiculous reminders of the past. But, I’m pretty sure they will know too, of the things we keep.
