"God gave us memories that we might have roses in december." sir james barrie
saturday i drove the 50 miles to my mother's to pick up the remaining clothes stashed in one of her closets since the days following the flood. since i have done so little to take care of myself this last year i have gained weight and none of these clothes fit. i will carry them around in my car until i somehow find the motivation to go through them and finally deliver them to the goodwill. my mother is moving and unbeknownst to be i had some things stored in her barn. 3 trunks full of old report cards, badly written poetry and some precious letters and pictures of old friends and boyfriends. mostly as i went through it all i marvelled at the tenuous grasp i have on myself these days. i felt so totally removed from most of the mementos that make up the person i once was.
saturday i drove the 50 miles to my mother's to pick up the remaining clothes stashed in one of her closets since the days following the flood. since i have done so little to take care of myself this last year i have gained weight and none of these clothes fit. i will carry them around in my car until i somehow find the motivation to go through them and finally deliver them to the goodwill. my mother is moving and unbeknownst to be i had some things stored in her barn. 3 trunks full of old report cards, badly written poetry and some precious letters and pictures of old friends and boyfriends. mostly as i went through it all i marvelled at the tenuous grasp i have on myself these days. i felt so totally removed from most of the mementos that make up the person i once was.
i looked at pictures of a friend who died a decade ago and her face was unrecognizable - only her red hair looked familiar. i read a note, written totally in french, and while i recognized the name of the boy who had written it i stared at it for minutes before i recognized my own handwriting in reply to his queries about upcoming tests and a date that friday night. it's so very surreal to feel this disconnect. because of a traumatic childhood i do have my share of "lost time" or "blank periods" but i never thought that i could forget the face of a dear friend or the fact that i dated this sweet boy in high school. and who knew i could still read french?!
i reduced the contents of the 3 trunks to one large box full of concert programs, yearbooks, pictures, letters and some old journals. these things too will remain in my car until i can manage to lug them upstairs to the loft full of more memorabilia of vague and distant memories.
a wonderful friend's generous husband and teenage son came to load my mother's den furniture (couch and 2 matching chairs) in his truck and drive the 50 miles back to my house where they disposed of my old couch, one they had actually donated and delivered in october when i moved back in post-flood, and unloaded the new stuff into its rightful place. it's very nice furniture but is, again, one more thing that is new and therefore hard for me to adjust to. i have been begging for this furniture for years and i love it but it's a constant reminder that i have a house full of donated goods that don't seem to feel like "mine" no matter how hard i try.
i've fought hard to sleep but have failed miserably these last few nights. the sleep finally comes around dawn and lasts no more than a couple of hours. i have been here since 6:00 saturday night and have slept maybe 5 hours - yesterday morning while i was supposed to be getting ready for church (which i just had to watch on-line) and a "nap" today that lasted less than 2 hours.
i wish that i could cry. i don't know if i would feel better but it seems like i would. i don't know if my inability is related to my medication, the PTSD or what but, while i don't feel "sad" really, i feel like crying would be soothing if not healing.
grace and peace
i reduced the contents of the 3 trunks to one large box full of concert programs, yearbooks, pictures, letters and some old journals. these things too will remain in my car until i can manage to lug them upstairs to the loft full of more memorabilia of vague and distant memories.
a wonderful friend's generous husband and teenage son came to load my mother's den furniture (couch and 2 matching chairs) in his truck and drive the 50 miles back to my house where they disposed of my old couch, one they had actually donated and delivered in october when i moved back in post-flood, and unloaded the new stuff into its rightful place. it's very nice furniture but is, again, one more thing that is new and therefore hard for me to adjust to. i have been begging for this furniture for years and i love it but it's a constant reminder that i have a house full of donated goods that don't seem to feel like "mine" no matter how hard i try.
i've fought hard to sleep but have failed miserably these last few nights. the sleep finally comes around dawn and lasts no more than a couple of hours. i have been here since 6:00 saturday night and have slept maybe 5 hours - yesterday morning while i was supposed to be getting ready for church (which i just had to watch on-line) and a "nap" today that lasted less than 2 hours.
i wish that i could cry. i don't know if i would feel better but it seems like i would. i don't know if my inability is related to my medication, the PTSD or what but, while i don't feel "sad" really, i feel like crying would be soothing if not healing.
grace and peace
ah, you got your couch!! finally!
ReplyDeleteyou know how well i remember stuff, and there are still times i look at old yearbooks and see jokes and references that mean nothing to me. so some of the disconnect you feel is just normal aging. (thanks a lot, aging!).