Out of sight, out of mind.
The hope chest, a Kramer original, bears old journals, autographed posters, and books to pass down to future children. Every few months, I'll clear off the top to retrieve a journal. I surround myself in bygone days and then store it away again. Every time I move, I prune the contents further down but much of my past life remains. The incarnations of who I've been. The nostalgia of it all.
Today I opened the two boxes and poked around their insides. Pins from Comiskey Park, various elections, patriotic ones for 4th of July, funny pins made by friends. They tell me little stories from the past decade. There's Thai currency, reminding me my time there was real and someday I'll visit again. Funny mementos from high school.
I don't know why I hold on to so many things but I can't bear to throw them out either. My house speaks of hand me downs and gifts and memories, memories, memories. A growing chorus of friends and family accompanies my day through pictures on the wall and the decades-worn couch. I'm no hoarder though. I contain the tangible in chests and boxes. Good or bad, it's all in there. I try not to keep the things I want to forget but we don't always have a choice.
The other box belonged to Grandma; it became mine after she died. Her cedar chest is in the office but this box stays close to me. Its contents are more complicated. Senior pictures- I've lost touch with half of those friends. Pictures of Aunt Teresa the year before she died. A St. Francis medal. Memorial cards of the ones I've loved and lost. Even a picture of a former hospice patient.
I've created a coffin. I hide the trinkets and dose myself with them periodically. I don't know why I keep these items near and far. I don't know why I keep the memorial cards at all. Those deaths are seared in my memory.
For now, I put it all back. I tidy, I look, I remember. I shake off the constraints. I breathe. I begin.
Linking up with the incomparable Amber Haines for #concretewords