Jill, Diane, the cats, and I will soon be blazing a course through Colorado and Kansas highways to sunny Stillwater for the third, and final, memorial service. Last night, we put into boxes what our limited emotional capacities would allow us to see and process of Craig's belongings. Personal items as meaningless as his sunscreen and deodorant were often too difficult to address, so we focused on bulky books and desk items. Of course, even the books are labeled "to go through later". Just two weeks since his passing, it's too fresh, too soon, too muddied with the emotional debris of these last months to be going through his personal belongings so intimately-- to be witness to his life, only to "put it away".
Diane, Jill and I stood in his room yesterday evening, looked at one another and decided we couldn't do it yet. We aren't in the right mindset and would either callously shove feelings and his belongings aside, or fall into a puddle of tears over his deodorant or contact lenses. We did what we could to fill the cars and will return for Craig's belongings next week when we have time and emotional space to see, feel, appreciate and remember him, and who he will always be to us.
The cars will share space with leftover remnants of our Mom's stay here -- her wheelchair, her walker, her hat and wig. Items that sat in the corners of Craig's apartment and Emily's basement, waiting, watching over us, reminding us every day of our first tragic loss three months ago. Side by side, a part of Mom and Craig are coming home together just as they heroically fought their cancers and found their mutual end. The image, the symbolism, the intensity in meaning, it's too hard and heartbreaking to fully comprehend. Perhaps, in time ...
~E
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