Clearing out our third floor is an ordeal. It's slow going. Apparently I have to look at and touch everything and then I have to reflect on it. There's my Dad's old Latin text book, children's books belonging to my Grandparents from the 1930s,old things that have been touched by many hands; the hands of my family. They are precious, intentionally preserved for one reason or another. Other, newer things like the seldom-used jumbo rice cooker can just go.
Then there are the photos. Among them two classic pictures of my Dad donning his plaid, wool tam. None of us, nor he, knew when those pictures were taken that he only had a few short years remaining ... or that he would decline shortly thereafter. Digging into souvenirs of the past is opening my heart wide. There will be no new memories for me with Dad. It feels like a fresh wound. Tears come again.
In this emotion there is opportunity. Time to take out these old pictures and do something with them. It's time to write from this raw place what I feel when I see those faces, even my own face, having changed some now. There's no shortage of stories among our memories.
This life is just racing along; day into day ... month to month. The message in the suitcase was clear to me today: don't delay. Run when you can run; use everything you've got, when you've got it. This is not a time for restraint. Do it now.
