Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday, I will post something about grief. Sometimes it will be a reflection on an aspect of grief’s landscape. Now and then I will share from my own journey of grief, because in the sharing of our stories we find strength and build a community of people that support one another.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Closed Boxes

There are possessions I boxed up when Evelyn died that I haven’t looked at since. Part of me doesn’t want to open those boxes because I fear they will take me into rooms that I don’t ever want to revisit. 

Yet some of those items could help me celebrate her again, because each possession contains its own story.  Even then it will an emotional mixed bag, like when I hear Claire de Lune, our song. I cry from the sadness and smile from the memory of the night we were swept up by the music and chose it.
What are these items that have been hidden for nine years? 

They include recordings of her performances and her amazing voice. Her words on the answering machine. The items she put on her knick-knack shelf as reminders of the turns that her life had taken over the years.  Her sketches of Yosemite. Last week, because of a lingering insurance matter, I looked at all the doctor invoices from her last year and remembered how many medical problems she was dealing with, and how hard it was for us to hold on to hope as our options dwindled and despair deepened.

Will I ever listen to recordings of her singing? I truly do not know.

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