Spent all day yesterday cleaning out the attic (which annoyingly involved unpacking every, single box, checking for stinkbugs, and then repacking). Among the things I repacked were several boxes of J's childhood stuff. Repacking up my own such stuff triggered a flood of very strong emotions. I literally have a ziploc bag of cards given to my mother at my birth, a Steiff teddy bear, about a dozen photographs (which were all in my own possession, which is why they're still around), and two report cards. My family didn't keep a lot of things, but there were 4 photo albums, all of which I can remember exactly down to which photos were in which albums, with every one of my (and my brother's) childhood photos from birth through about junior high. At some point in my father's remarriage, those albums (and anything else that might have remained), *disappeared.* Vanished into thin air. Dad & Stepmother (D&S) have moved several times since, so I'm certain they are well and truly gone. I've been asking about them since college, when I first realized they were missing.
I will never have confirmation about what happened to them (and it's something that I absolutely cannot discuss with D&S), but I know. Am positively certain that Stepmother got rid of them. Perhaps consciously, perhaps not, but I am certain of this fact (am also certain my beloved childhood dolls suffered the same fate at her hands). She has spent the 20 years since their marriage trying (again perhaps consciously, perhaps not) to erase any indication that my father had a life before her. And she clearly has a lot of issues, still. A LOT. I thought I had posted either here or at
lunavessel about the crazy fiasco of Z's first birthday party when she completely freaked out, but I guess I was too upset then to write it down. Thing is, I don't really want a lot of useless nostalgic stuff, don't care about any of it really, but those photographs were so precious and irreplaceable. I know they're gone and nothing will bring them back, but the knowledge that they're all gone just gone crushes me.
I was so simultaneously angry and sad yesterday that I called my mother to rant about it. She told me that when they divorced, she didn't take them because she thought they'd be safe with him. I'd have taken them myself, carried them in the back of my car during all those crazy moves I used to make. Yes, my dad is a bit complicit in his utter oblivion - he would never have noticed they were missing if I hadn't asked about them. But when I'm reminded of this, like I was yesterday, I just still can't believe this happened.