Wherever you go…there you are.
Like everyone else’s…my home is full of memories.
Mostly good…and some not so good.
When Robbie died…I spent a week getting rid of his clothes and his medical supplies and the last bits and pieces of his stuff in my home…the sooner I got rid of everything that reminded me of the last 6 months he spent struggling to breathe on my sofa the easier it would be.
I frantically gave away his stuff.
I would get rid of that part of the memory and then I would feel better.
And then it stopped….
I couldn’t get rid of any more of him.
It just stopped.
I wanted some of that stuff back…
I wanted the memory back…
I wanted him back…so I didn’t have to deal with this memory.
He was not going to come back to help me with my memory.
It wasn’t until 2 years later I could get myself to give away the rest of his stuff.
Now I am left with his actual memory…and photographs…and his remains in a conch shell…
‘Things’ are not memories…the memories are still there without the things….
Now I try to remember the good ones.
There is no hiding or getting rid of memories.
Wherever you go…there you are.
