Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The charity was good, but the reality sucked.

Well, here's the photo of what the Lupus Association Donation amounted to this morning.  Eight really big bags.  Eight, industrial sized, really large, extra full bags.   Seven of these were personal belongings of Pop's.  Clothes, mostly.  I'm not much of a sentimental keeper.  I don't have a strong pull to hang on to things like windbreakers and socks and sweaters and such.  Still, when it was all out in the drive, there was a bit of a sting.  It kind of sucked.  And even going through his things, pangs come from nowhere.  

I've no place to record them but here . . . . 

He wore windbreakers.  When I close my eyes and see him, he's in a windbreaker.  Button up the front, slash pockets.  He was on a lifetime search for better pockets on windbreakers.  Slash pockets dump the contents all over and his pockets were always full of coins, toothpicks, mints (wintergreen Certs or Werther's original).  He pinned the pockets together with safety pins and then cursed that they were hard to get into.  I can hear him saying, "well, at least my stuff didn't fall out in the car seat."  One of those bags has LOTS of windbreakers in it.  I found a few stray toothpicks and some certs.  A few rolos and a penny or two.  

I saved a few shirts.  He was a sucker for gawdy Hawaiian shirts.  They will make a nice piece of the scrap quilt I'm saving for.  He had a grey Mr. Rogers sweater that I loved.  I kept that, too.  I'm not sure exactly why.  It just felt right.  And handkerchiefs.  I'm a sucker for hankies.  Gross, I know, but get past the blow-your-nose-in-them-and-carry-your-own-boogers-around-in-your-pocket-all-day aspect and they are kind of sweet.  Traditional.  For our wedding, I had hankies embroidered with our names & the date. I found that hanky in his stack.  Hello, tears. 

I'm working through boxes and bags.  The goal is to get through the majority of it before next Wednesday when I go pick up the rest.  Eureka, I know.  I can only handle a bag or two per week.  It's overwhelming and makes me ache.  Deeply, viscerally ache.   

1 comment:

Homestead said...

I can see him. Swishy windbreaker and a camera. That's my memory.