Friday, January 23, 2009

Finding my memories

This week, I did a job I had been dreading since arriving in Indiana—sorting through the stuff we left behind in the basement of my parents-in-law before heading to Indonesia. We are only in the States for about six months out of every 3 ½ years, so it had been a while since I’d seen the stuff. About a dozen boxes, filled with things that hadn’t made the cut for bringing with us overseas, were sitting, waiting for another chance.

I knew some of the boxes were filled with things that were family heirlooms—the crystal and china passed down to my husband, Brad, for starters. I also remembered that we left behind Brad’s grandfather’s coin collection—which I’m convinced has the priceless coin in it that could pay for Evan’s college someday. If one of those coins doesn’t help, then surely the boxes of baseball cards should do the trick, right?

But then I came across some boxes that I had forgotten about—appropriately labeled “Becca’s memories.” So, that’s where my memory had gone!

Since I only had about an hour during Evan’s nap time to get the sorting job done, I quickly opened the box, just to be see that I didn’t need any of the stuff in Indonesia. The first thing I saw was a tiny, fuzzy animal that I’d had since I was 5. It fits in my hand, has no ears, no tail, no feet (and never did, by the way), and is made from cardboard with fur glued onto it. But it managed to survive about 10 moves throughout my childhood and adulthood. Obviously, this thing has some value, although I can’t remember exactly why. Now, it just makes me laugh at my sentimentalism.

I can, however, remember why I kept all the journals I wrote in as a child. I’m sure those journals contain the goods on my crushes, fights with parents, and other dramatic musings of the adolescent mind. What else would I be able to pass down to my great grandchildren someday?

Also, in this box, was a glass container with some sand in it. How could I forget its meaning? That is sand from a beach in Italy, where I visited when I was 17 years old. Besides falling in love with Europe that summer, I also met Brad there. Oh, yes, that sand is definitely a keeper.

Speaking of Brad, I also kept every since letter that we wrote each other during our dating years. We dated for almost four years, and were apart for much of that time. We wrote real letters (even after email became more available a few months into our dating lives). We even made each other cards. At the time, I remember our separations would seem like an eternity. This year, we will celebrate our ninth year of marriage. Those letters remind me of the longing of young love, the ache of separation, and the art of romance. I need to remember more often not to let the normalcy of everyday life now to keep me from loving my soulmate.

My baby’s nap time was soon over, but I didn’t need any more time to determine that none of this stuff should come to Indonesia with me. But it shouldn’t be thrown out either. I wouldn’t want to deprive myself of enjoying my childhood again in a few more years.

1 comment:

  1. I agree, I think we should not throw our special stuff that have special memory on it. Let others throw it away for you in the future, children or grandchildren. Oh, Evan is getting to be more cute.


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