Pondering on a Sunday afternoon

Yesterday, we spent the whole day cleaning out and purging through bags and bins that should have been gone through long ago.  We went down to the storage unit and went through all the boxes we couldn't find the energy to deal with when we were unpacking.  Two years later, it was an easier sort.  Our minds are clearer, and our hearts are lighter.  We aren't in the thick of change right now.  The sort went surprisingly quickly.

Until.  (My blog posts, like my life, include a lot of game-changing untils.  Is that normal?)

Tony opened one of the last boxes and sort of chuckled.  Not that ha-ha chuckle, but the oh-wow-here-we-go chuckle.  I looked up, and he was holding two gigantic Ziploc bags of paper stuff.  He said, "This is all the stuff from those nightstands of your parents' that we got rid of.  We didn't go through it in Georgia."

Yes, that mental pressure I was just mentioning when we got to Panama?  It started in Georgia.  I came to a point where I just couldn't think anymore.  When I started the moving process, I went through closets and bins, carefully determining what could be kept, trashed, or donated.  I remember neatly making piles through my family room with clothing for each individual family.  And, at some point, I just couldn't do it anymore. 

Tony found one of those boxes.

We decided to finish the sort, shower, and get some dinner before we went through the bags of paper.  At 9:00 last night, facing exhaustion, I sat down with the bags.  It was, as I expected, piles and piles of "mementos."  As anyone who knows me knows (or anyone who's been following the blog for any length of time knows), I am not sentimental.  I enjoy making memories and remembering life, but I have no need for physical reminders.  And, as anyone who knows us knows, my husband is ultra-sentimental.  Unfortunately  It turns out that my children are as sentimental as he is.  So, bags of paper love I keep because I love these people.  If they need me to keep their stuff to feel loved, I'll keep their stuff.

I sorted and laughed at some of the memories.  The kids laughed and feigned embarrassment of the treasures of their "youth."  It was a light-hearted 15 minutes.  I do love these people, but their paper creations still don't affect my soul.  Stuff just doesn't affect my soul.

Until.  (There it is again.)

As I dug a little deeper, I found it.  One of the very few "things" in my life that has affected my soul.  (And remember, I'd already, earlier in the day, thrown away candles and the video from our wedding day.)  I thought it was gone.  I'd spent a few hours earlier this year looking for it, and it was not there.  But, I found it.  It's still sitting at the table with me now because I can't figure out where to keep it.  Us non-sentimental types don't know how to store sentimental things.

It's a card.  It's a card that was given to me when I was dealing with the miscarriage.  It isn't from my children.  Or my husband.  Or my family.  Or my close friends.  Or my general friends.  It was from an acquaintance- my brother's former boss, to be specific.  It touched my heart like no other card I received.  And, I'm not exactly sure why.  Partly, it's because the message of the card is probably the best "I'm sorry you are going through this" I've ever read.  It said- perfectly, exactly- what I needed to read.  Partly, it's because it was from someone who didn't HAVE to send a card.  Mostly, it's because she knew.  She knew knew.  Lots of people have had miscarriages.  Some of those people are willing to share in that knowledge with you.  They know, and they share from that knowing.  She wrote her heart, and it flowed directly into my mine.

There are very few things that mean as much to me as this card.  My being still feels warm when I read that card- now 4.5 years later.  It now also serves to remind me that loving on people- even if they're 1000 miles away and you don't really "know" each other- is worth the time.


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