As the clock continues to tick, time moves on to the closure of my daughter’s divorce. A van full of boxes packed with nearly a decade of memories, the last of the boxes, left an impact on this competent resilient woman. The need to lug the many boxes up a flight a stairs to her compact apartment brought out emotions that have been held in check through a year of uncertainty. Thank you Mary for being there when I couldn’t, not as her land lady but a true friend to smooth over the rush of frustration and tearfulness. Sitting on the steps together, putting your arms around her for me ensuring her it all will work out and and a new full life lies ahead. And room would be found for the boxes if storage was necessary.
My daughter informed me over the phone once the boxes all reach the apartment she was overcome with a feeling of what it must be like to have died and someone packing up all your belonging in boxes to dispose of. Like an out of body experience. Spooky to say the least! But her organizational skills took over, knowing a pity party was not an answer and everything found a place in this lovely apartment she calls home.
I’m sure many of us who have felt the sting of divorce, know these feelings of loss and the uncertainty of what life will hold. It’s an never ending journey unfolding day by day. Gladness overcomes the sadness as we move on and unpack the boxes that held another life and sort the memories.
Recv’d the daughters response in an email –
27 years tossed in a few empty boxes
Stopped at the house to pick up Halloween decorations and my costumes…wasn’t prepared for what I would find. Everything I had left in a house that I had staged for sale was lying on a few tables in the basement. Tossed in a heap on the table with no care, rhyme, or reason. Looked like items ready for a garage sale. Entered the house through the basement so at this point wasn’t able to see what the house looked like without the things that had filled it for years. What a better way to get rid of someone then to pack up every bit of them and put it in the basement. As always, hurt beyond words, I keep my composure and asked what time I could pick up my things in the morning. Stayed the night with a girlfriend and in the morning picked up boxes, went to the house and with the help of the person who so desperately is trying to put things behind him helped load the boxes and place them in my SUV.
I don’t think the hurt truly hit me until I started to unload the boxes and carry them up a long flight of steps to what I now call home. Upon the third or fourth trip up the steps the tears started to flow. It is a very unusually feeling for me since I have only allowed myself to cry a handful of times since the separation. Feelings of loss and uncertainty of what life will hold overwhelm me. The tears flowed even harder when Mary, my landlord asked me if I was moving out…barely being able to speak I cried harder and said “I’m not moving out this is everything I had left at the place I once called home. He took it all throw it in a box and handed it to me”. We sat on the steps for a while and she reassured me it would be ok, that a new life lied ahead and that she would find room in the basement if I couldn’t fit them in my cute but compact apartment.
As I unpacked and tried to make sense out of what was in the boxes I had an out-of-body experience. I felt as if I was dead and someone had packed up all my things and gave them to goodwill. The oddest thing was that I was alive and unpacking the things of a broken spirit. I continued to cry harder than I had ever cried before. As the tears flow I wash everything that had not been dusted since I left over a year ago and start to make sense out of the situation. I have a choice…I can let it crush me or I can have those things I treasured close to me again. I repack the boxes with care and purpose and hang the things that mean the most to me. 3 hours later peace settles over me and I realize I have again survived and I am a step closer to healing.