This will all be someone else’s to go through.
I will be gone and yet there will still be parts of me left behind.
My father left behind an apartment full of memories and it was my task as the oldest to assemble and sort through the boxes and drawers of stuff he left behind.
My reaction at the time was to vow that I would never do the same—leave all that stuff behind for someone else to sort through.
Yet we live and we collect boxes full of old birthday and father’s day cards—so precious at the moment of receiving and yet saved—as if to say—the meaning of that moment will be diminished—if not kept.
As I sort through a basement full of years and years of collecting, I am reminded of my vow—my intention being so very clear at that moment of introspection in my dad’s apartment.
I need to be firm in my resolve—yet I hesitate.
Two boxes of stuff become one yet one remains—perhaps only meaningful in that moment to me.
I cling to a past that will never pass this way again—I guess that is because this is what humans do—collect memories as mementos to a life lived in order to feel good about the days we have been given.
I sense the ship is about to sail and there is limited luggage space.