Today was a neutral day. Neutral doesn't mean boring, like oatmeal or beige. I don't have very many of those. After the drama of returning from a long and draining trip, and experiencing my dad's birthday ---the first of the "firsts" this year--I slept really well. Emotionally drained, as you can imagine.
This morning I went for coffee, and went over to the easter cards and it reminded me of the weekly cards I sent to my father for two years. This has become a regimen for my happiness. So I bought two cards, one each for my niece and nephew. So the tradition will continue: I'll send weekly cards to them! I hope they will, at some point, write me back or call me. They've not been raised with those sorts of manners, though. At ages 8 and 6, they still have to be coached to say "thank you" and "please."
I did no estate work today; it was a crash and burn day. A wandering day, getting used to driving my car again. I found some great shadow boxes for the shell collection I amassed while hiding on Sanibel Island, FL. That felt nice, like a way to honor my trip with beautiful things....that were FREE, a gift from nature. My father collected rocks from every place he visited, from as close as Cape Cod to Sri Lanka. My sister and I were also requested to bring back rocks from our travels. I've brought them back from Spain, Ireland, Chile, Germany, Switzerland, and France. I looked for one while on Sanibel...and realized the rock collection was complete. So I started collecting shells. I got the famous "Sanibel Stoop" while trolling for treasures. And I wish I could share them with my dad.
There were many blessed hours today during which I was separated from my crackberry. I have set it on silent, which will become its default setting. This electronic stuff has to happen on my terms. As long as I'm still on sabbatical *I* am the master of the machines. I just get to hit delete a lot. Which I do with an impish smile on my face.
Did I re-invest in my own life today? Not really. I did finish reading Little Bee (highly recommended) and looked briefly at the poetry I'd written after my dad died. There are possibilities there. Still haven't gotten around to singing. That kind of connection to my body's core is just not there yet. I'll be going to yoga again on Saturday mornings, a slow introduction into my old life, and then gradually getting back to my seven classes a week. Meaningful physical investment. Gets me off the couch when the sadness is tethering me to the couch. I did cook dinner tonight, which is a major thing for my husband and I. I used to love to cook. Usually with a glass of wine at my side. The wine's gone, but I hope to get the fire back for cooking.
What to do with my own house? It is an utter disaster. I need a dumpster outside so I can do a real purge. It's time, especially after experiencing my father's house at the beginning of my Odyssey. It was a very clean house, but it was full of his living. We worked twelve hours a day for a week to prepare it to go on the market. And we did it! It depleted any small amount of energy I had, and went to bed each night in a daze. Was I thoughtful enough about his clothes--was that charity the right one? Did I save enough of the meaningful ones ...are they meaningful? The things I couldn't bear to throw out, I asked a beloved friend to help, while I was out of the house.
Back to my own house. It is beyond a simple housecleaning. It needs a gutting of the gluttony I've acquired during the harrowing months of my father's illness. Since the his diagnosis, it's as if our house began grieving, too. We stopped cleaning, putting things away. We bought more stuff hoping for happy moments. We stopped inviting friends over because it would take a herculean effort to prepare the house for visitors, even our closest friends. NOW, It is time shed the things in which I'd been hiding myself for months. I want to get rid of many clothes and start over. It's not that I'm tired of the clothing, I want to get rid of the memories associated with them. I woke with this desire to find a clean slate in my life. Just starting to wonder how pervasive this may turn out to be! Luckily there are excellent charities in my city to whom donations make a difference.
Well, I guess a start could be a buying a big box of garbage bags. The need to simplify is overwhelming, and so this is where I'll start. With my own stuff. Right, deal with your own shit first, because that's the only shit you have a right to deal with. True that. I think tomorrow I will attack my bedroom. Gently, I will thank my clothes for serving their time with me, and I'll pass them on, as I did with my father's.
Well, that it's for tonight. More anon. Any suggestions for this part of the journey will be greatly appreciated. Good night, readers. I hope to hear some suggestions from wise women. <3
About Me
- Catherine
- In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.
I wish I had known about your blog earlier, I am just reading this now as you've completed your Herculean tasks.
ReplyDeleteI am right there with you. Also the trustee, I find my desk, closet, basement and garage are overflowing with discarded bits, art supplies, old toys, and clothes my family has outgrown.
One trick I've found helpful when resisting the "urge to purge" something... have your digital camera in your pocket. I needed to get rid of an old bed frame, but my daughter had drawn all these cute little characters and signed her name on the bottom of the plywood that held her mattress. I took a picture of it and let it go. I look at her handiwork and smile, and it's one less piece of clutter to deal with.
Instinctively, the things that are really important you won't waffle over (for me, it's anything my Dad's handwriting is on).
If I find myself in hoarding justification mode - I take a picture, and try to pry my mitts from it and put it in the black trash bag :)
If you discover any other helpful hints - let me know ♥
Thank you for sharing your idea. I LOVE the idea of taking pictures of the things I love, and then letting the object itself go. I can imagine disposing of it is another story. That sounds hard. I'm with you on the handwriting--I have recently come across cards my dad has sent me over the past year, as recently as Christmas. I will probably never get rid of these.
ReplyDeleteIt's funny. There have been some things I've come across that I wouldn't have kept, but my aunt (Dad's sister) suggested I keep them for a while, just to make sure I'm not being too quick to purge. I think that's good advice. You know how experts say to hold off from making any big decisions during the initial grief period? For me, this includes my dad's stuff. So, my friend, if that's hoarding justification, I hand you additional rationalization :o). Perhaps that's *not* what you need to hear...but my experience has been that in grief I don't quite trust my judgment. It really helps to run my thoughts by someone to pull myself into focus. I guess, a reality check, right?
Thank you again. I look forward to more conversation. And I am sorry for your loss, too. You lost your dad?
XO