Emotional Material Explosion

Saving $200 a month by emptying a storage unit maintained at significant cost since Hurricane Sandy.  Before digital archiving, before smartphone, before tablets: an emotional minefield.

Each box with contents forgotten or unknown until the aged tape is wrestled off, each one a time capsule able to steal hours of reflection or paralysis in processing or deciding what to do next.

Imagine having a garage full of boxes from the toddlerhood of a now adult-sized child.  They take up most of the space of themselves.  Now unpack each one and decide what to do with what's inside.  In order to sort through the contents of each take up three times the space: why it's called 'unpacking'.  So it looks and feels much worse before it gets better.

When will we be on the other side of the curve is unknown: when there's less to clear and finish from having started, no point of reference for a midpoint - where or when.  It's disorienting, and exhausting, and critical for moving on.

Cherished items attached to concrete memories still kept.  Compounded loss trauma from what could not be salvaged before now.  What we know he won't remember or care about goes to other children.  The rest will await his decision and approval.  Meanwhile the process of purging remains painful, in the energy required and what it stirs up.

Time stands still, though not really.  The day feels over as soon as it started, with the exhaustion of having harvested a cornfield, only it isn't just physical.  It's mourning for time gone that can't be recovered, and what might have been that wasn't.

So close; so far away

Was in front of the screen to write on the usual day, and priorities that could not wait came before time ran out; the same for the next day. It's the first time every effort was made to be in the right place was made when just being there wasn't enough. One person having to do what no one else can do; things having to be done before anything else. Overwhelming. It may be the last time such constraints exist; I certainly hope so.

The last illness took a tremendous toll: unprepared, frustrated, not comprehending why so much time passed with little or no improvement. No chance for proper rest, no back-up. No nurse. No family nearby. Fortunately I'm ill so infrequently. Dragged myself here another day as another day still was not an option.

A bike tour detoured all traffic; the last two years and this one the route went right past our front door, where my son 'refreshed' everyone with his rotary-powered Superman watergun as they rode by. He's not here this weekend. He's far away, to a place I would not have taken him. He'll be back. He would be happy the race didn't have railings this year so that he could get closer to his targets with the water gun.

One year he had enough water guns for all of the children two doors down, so the bikers encountered a wet ambush. Only one other year was it cool enough for the water to be unwelcome. Today it was missed and would have been met with open arms off the handle bars. Saw a bike with three seats and helmet covers that looked like jesters and fish; lots of bright colors. I could only see them go by from the window, staying horizontal as long as possible until coming out for what cannot wait.

Every day it's something that can't be put off another day; feeling better would make a big difference. Where's my sense of humor? Congested in my chest, the kind that hasn't gone away for too many days now. Got material, and no energy to even sit up at home to get it all down. Where's the limo when you need it most? Where's the personal assistant? Where's the support? The results of years of effort? Any day now. Any day.