9/11/13
When I read the assignment for my writing class to write about sentimental value, I heard the words, “Oh No!” leapfrog out of my mouth. I don’t want to write about something I have been experiencing for over a year now.
During the last sixteen months I have
attempted to build up the courage to spend time each week going through my
husband’s study making decisions about what to do with his belongings.
When I read the assignment for my writing class to write about sentimental value, I heard the words, “Oh No!” leapfrog out of my mouth. I don’t want to write about something I have been experiencing for over a year now.
During the last sixteen months I have
attempted to build up the courage to spend time each week going through my
husband’s study making decisions about what to do with his belongings.A room filled with drawers and drawers of: papers, notes, programs, articles, maps, receipts, ticket stubs, and a hundred other different types of paper he chose to save, to keep. The walls of his study are covered with memorabilia and several bookshelves are laden with printed words manifesting Ed’s interests, philosophies, and his love of travel.
I have
had a year of opening drawers, files, boxes, envelopes, which all shout out,
“Ed is gone so YOU are the one to make
the hundreds of decisions about what to keep, what to give away, and what to
just toss.” As I sort through the hundreds of small treasures he kept, a
full orchestra of emotions begins playing inside my head and heart challenging
me to keep to the necessary task of decision-making.
I am
reminded to put the brass bra on, as they say, and call upon my pragmatic side appearing
on stage with the job of encouraging me
to stay the course. I think of the word, “winnow” – the delicate art of
removing the wheat from the chaff – to scatter or to sift out.
I am
always thinking to myself, will I make the right decisions about all of this
sifting? Will I discard something I will
later regret?
The
horrific job of going through a loved one’s things after they die is like
scraping open a wound over and over again, reminding you that the healing process isn’t over and
you still have pain. Oh yes, I have received many well meant sympathy cards telling me that to
remember is to have loved – to be
thankful for good memories, but all the well-worn rhetoric doesn’t quell the
loss or loneliness I feel each day and night.
But,
back to the assignment of what I treasure and what someone else will probably
just toss after I die. The handwritten notes on bits of paper, and the cards I
received from Eddie over the thirty-two years we were married are sentimental
to me, and I will keep forever because I treasure them.
They are
mine.
They are
love.
They are
mine.
His winnowing fork is in his hand,
and he will thoroughly cleanse his threshing floor.
He will gather his wheat into the barn,
but the chaff he will burn up with unquenchable fire."
Written
by
Today's topic is about one of the things that a widow has to endure during the mourning time. This is an added sorrow to the aftermath of loosing a spouse or someone close to you. It is like salt on a wound that can only be dealt with by walking through it. Connie has written a heartfelt description of what this has meant to her. Thank you Connie
ReplyDeleteGod bless...
Connie, I don't know you, but I am sorry for your loss. Your writing made me think about all of the things I save...notes and cards from my husband, notes and art of my children's creating, as well as small items that represent special moments in my life. While I sympathize with what you are experiencing, I also hear that you value those things that you too have saved through the years. I know we "can't take it with us," but I think those things are like the signposts of the journey of this life. They are precious to us because of what they represent, and can probably never mean the same thing to someone else. So now I will ponder, how will I give permission to my loved ones to have freedom to "winnow" when I'm gone one day? Great food for thought!
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