Traces of a Life

The first to go are the shoes.  You cling to everything else for a long time.  But as the years go by, and the moves are made and space becomes smaller, you let go of small things like clothes.  Pictures, awards, milestone markers, jewelry, her favorite books and the like are so much harder to part with, like I could remake with them the life that was once there.  Oh one hand it seems silly to cling to t-h-i-n-g-s, on the other hand there’s some comfort in touching them and remembering.

The reconstruction and refinishing of floors and plumbing is nearly finished after over two months of claims adjusters, mold specialists, carpenters, plumbers and floor finishers traipsing in and out because of a broken water valve leak while we were away at our last art show.  We’ve moved and moved once again all of our furniture, art and possessions ourselves to save on our $1000 deductible, as well as refurbishing our damaged vanity to make it better and more arty than the original custom made one.  Every closet in the house has been cleaned and re-organized, throwing away unused items.  It’s now down to the guest room, so-called Zelda’s Room for the artist-made soft sculpture Madame Zelda Zebra that reclines on her artist-made chaise, frowning down upon we brash humans that enter her space.

It’s in Zelda’s room that more of Debra’s mementos are kept in secret boxes, corners and drawers.  I still have her retainer for her teeth.  Why keep that?  I once bought her a little metal box on a trip to the races in Lexington and I keep her jewelry in it.  I still have her retainer for her teeth.  Why keep that?  Every time I open that little metal box, there it is right there beside her cross we gave her when she took her first holy communion and her ’87 pin for her 8^th grade graduation, and the enamel earrings she picked out on our trip to New Orleans and…..

In the closet sits Garfield the Cat, what was her favorite stuffed animal because she so adored his cartoons.  He gathers dust.  How many times in the past 26 years have I picked him up and thought about pitching him, or giving him away…..and then he goes back up there to peer out at me every time I slide open that door.  He made it to the kitchen table this time on top of a pile of photos and mementos I’ll send to Mary for her to cling to.  She’s worse than I am about hanging onto things she’ll never use or look at again.  My guess is that he’ll go back on the shelf in the closet. I’ve pared down her things enough for now.  Letting go of some of the t-h-i-n-g-s that once belonged to a beloved child that has died, is a long and slow and healthy process in the acceptance that your life goes on.

Turning a Weight into a Fleeting Thing

They’re called fleeting memories, those that pass by quickly, not retained for lack of importance.  But other memories can be like lead sinkers pulling you under to flounder.  How do you transform those memories?  Do you outlast them?  Yes.  Do you grab them and breathe the life from them?  Yes.  Do you thrash them?  Yes.  Do you pick them up and sort them into order and then blow their dust away.  Yes.  And then they become fleeting.

Remembering

Memorable Moments:

The day I brought Mary home from the hospital as a newborn, Debbie was 3 1/2 and after being away from her for 3 days holding a newborn, she looked so very big, running and smiling to meet us.

Her first day of Humpty Dumpty Nursery school she waited and waited for the short bus.  I finally called and they had forgotten her.  She was crushed until I told her they were coming back for her.

She informed me after her first day of school in first grade that I needn’t walk her to the corner to meet the school bus because I embarrassed her.  The other kids moms didn’t do that.

She raised monarchs from the time her 2nd grade teacher taught her how until her final summer.

I caught her with a stolen candy bar once as we left the grocery store and I made her go in and confess to the store manager while watching through the window.  She didn’t appreciate me at the time.

She decided while in third grade that she wanted to be a marine biologist and by 5th grade she wanted a “husband that wouldn’t work” as she put it so he could stay home with their kids while she went on expeditions to Antarctica.

She kicked a kid in the head when he knocked Mary off her bicycle.  After his mom lectured me I made her go to his home and apologize and then she was grounded for 2 weeks.  She was grounded a lot.

She never looked prettier than in her 8th grade graduation pictures in her pink and white dress and french braids, with that infectious smile and dazzling eyes.

Once when we stood in the Rocky Mountains alongside a pristine stream, hearing nothing but the rushing water, the hawk overhead and smelling the pine scented pure air, she whispered to me that it was like being in the presence of God.

Today she would be 41.