Author note: when I drafted this, I was with my guy. Three days before the scheduled posting, we broke up. That's a story for another time, but for my own sanity, I opted not to edit the story.
My guy's middle son recently moved in with us. We were in the process of preparing a space in the basement for his youngest son, who spends every other weekend with us. Finishing the space kept getting delayed, but once #2 son started sleeping in my office every night, I found the motivation I needed to clear all my stuff from beneath the stairs.
The stuff in question is mostly pictures and other memories, scattered in various boxes, in desperate need of some love and attention. Before the divorce, I had started sorting through, organizing and putting pictures into albums. Since the divorce, I've avoided those boxes like the plague.
In my mission to purge and de-clutter, I have gone through all of my stuff and donated, sold, or tossed out so many things. It has been very therapeutic and a significant piece of my healing journey. The pictures, though, the final piece in this de-cluttering adventure....I knew it would be difficult. I knew I had to be in the right frame of mind.
Honestly, I had no idea how hard it would be.
We emptied the space under the stairs on a Friday afternoon and all the boxes were moved into my office. Saturday, I felt brave, figured there's no time like the present. I dove in. I managed to empty four boxes, fill a box of things to be donated, fill a large bin for shredding, and fill a couple small garbage bags. Go me!!
Then, I hit the pictures and other memories I had collected that started stirring the emotions.
"This is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect."
-Jodi Picoult
First, it was pictures of other people's children. Babies then, their parents proud to announce their arrival or share their first portrait, first Christmas, first birthday. There were pictures my parents had sent of their adventures, weddings of my friends they attended but I wasn't able to, our family dogs. What do you do with such pictures?
They brought me joy in looking at them, but the thought of keeping them did not bring me joy. I told myself, "It is not my responsibility to keep other people's memories." I said it over and over, with each picture I found. It became a chant, my mantra, and it led me to the right decision.
It is not my responsibility to keep other people's memories.
That decision was to not hold on to these items. I placed each item in the bin to be shredded. It wasn't just photos, it was touristy memorabilia, greeting cards, postcards, brochures. It had all served its purpose at some point in my life, but that purpose is in the past. It is no longer my obligation to hold onto these things.
The hardest part came when I started on a box that held countless pictures of our first baby boy. That was a time before digital cameras, so roll of film upon roll of film was there to go through, most in duplicate. With the advent of CDs, I started having all of the pictures put onto CD in addition to having the film developed. I have a binder for the CDs, so that is an easy fix, but I had a difficult decision about the duplicates: give them to my son, give them to his dad, or shred.
The ex and I are at a point in our post-divorce relationship where we aren't speaking to each other. That story is for another day, but my festering anger toward him makes it difficult to consider sharing our memories with grace.
But I did.
Putting aside my angst, I collected things that I deemed not my responsibility to destroy. Cards from his grandfather (his mom's dad) and his grandmother (his dad's mom), pictures of him, pictures from a trip he had taken to Australia for work, pictures of his parents, his army awards...
As I gathered these things into a manila envelope, his reaction played out in my head. Because his last words to me were hateful, I could hear him saying, "What the hell am I supposed to do with this shit." Despite that, I still felt it was not responsibility to keep or destroy these items and I kept on with my mission. What I also acknowledged was that his reaction is not my responsibility. I had to do what I felt was right and fair. I couldn't worry about something outside of my control.
I reached a point in this task where I had to stop. The emotions were too much. I spent the rest of the day and evening quietly processing the avalanche in my brain and when I went to my room to read and unwind later that night, I cried for a bit.
I couldn't revisit the photos on Sunday, and not even on Monday which was a day off from work. My brain and heart were still dealing with the aftermath of that first endeavor. I was, however, pleasantly surprised when my son told me on Monday that his dad enjoyed going through the photos and other things on Sunday. That put my mind at ease that I had made the right decision.
I ordered a couple of photo albums and I have a plan for them. When those tasks are complete, I'll continue with more photos, but the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time, so that is what I am doing with this elephant.
What do you do with all your memories?
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