As I was writing yesterday, this is what occurred to me… maybe the handling of stuff, precious, inherited stuff is an occupation in which we engage in order to begin to knit together the frayed edges of our souls. This is what it feels like, for me at least… as if our souls are open at the edges where our beloved departed?

and yet, box by box, pack things down and then open them out again, choose what stays and then choose where the rest will go and the held back will be displayed, perhaps this is how we come to terms with the leaving… only as we settle in. only as handle each of the pieces our beloveds have handled.

I’m touching a lot of my past in this move… my sister was the keeper of much of the family heirlooms. And I also unpacked a box that had been tucked away for 7 years that I’d brought home from my father’s place when he died. So much history. Pretty soon, the table my brother made in 9th grade shop will have some of the same mementos that it held when it graced my parent’s living room, oh a decade ago…

and in the touching, there is remembering. and in the remembering there is a re-membering a pulling back together of life, different but still containing them… replacing, oh-so-slowly, the great gaping emptiness.

And although this is a lot of noble philosophy, I’m still overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that must be done. balance. Let’s keep looking for balance. In the meantime, I’ll keep working at staying present, making the memories stick, and giving thanks that I was as lucky as I was. And I’ll keep unpacking, shall I?