Pieces of Someone Else's Life
As you all know, about three years ago I shook the Las Vegas sand off my boots and came back to New Hampshire. It wasn't an easy decision, and it's one I questioned for a long time, most especially because it meant leaving Liz and Alicia who I had lived with for two years and coming back here on my own. I left half my things in storage- the furniture, half my book collection-which is extensive, and things I didn't think I'd need right away, figuring that I'd be moving into my own place shortly, and would be getting those other things out of storage. I of course also figured I'd unpack the minute I landed back in town.
Three years later, those boxes sat, until today, un-unpacked in my garage, where they have weathered (haha) three New England winters, three years of rainy seasons and three hot, humid summers. After Liz died, I dreaded going through them. I had actual moments of panic when I thought of going through them alone. So today, almost exactly three years since I moved them here, my Mom and I actually got down to business and took half of my old life out of boxes.
Someone said to me the other day that I've grown up alot over the last year. I wasn't sure how to take that, in fact kind of scoffed at the comment, quietly and to myself, but looking at the pieces of the girl that I unpacked today, finding tons of old clothes, some old love notes and pictures I haven't seen in years, I realized that as grown up as that girl was, as she had had to be to survive those years when everything was going to pieces, the truth of the matter is, I HAVE in fact grown up alot since then. Since her. Looking at the girl I was, it's hard to imagine myself as that girl again. I have changed, in more ways then I could have imagined, and even though I no longer fit into the jeans I donated today, I'm pretty happy with who that little girl grew into. It's not over, but it's going to be a hell of a journey, because it already has been.
I did better than I thought I would. I only cried once, over a box of Christmas decorations, the cheap ones we got from Target, because that's all that we could afford. But they're bright and still beautiful, and they made that little apartment home when we couldn't afford to be there for the holidays. Maybe we'll hang them up this year.
I miss Liz in moments like this, when she's supposed to be here to help me, to remember that girl. And I think I always will. But just like those Christmas decorations, I can always take the memories out and hang them on a tree, and enjoy how beautiful they are.
Three years later, those boxes sat, until today, un-unpacked in my garage, where they have weathered (haha) three New England winters, three years of rainy seasons and three hot, humid summers. After Liz died, I dreaded going through them. I had actual moments of panic when I thought of going through them alone. So today, almost exactly three years since I moved them here, my Mom and I actually got down to business and took half of my old life out of boxes.
Someone said to me the other day that I've grown up alot over the last year. I wasn't sure how to take that, in fact kind of scoffed at the comment, quietly and to myself, but looking at the pieces of the girl that I unpacked today, finding tons of old clothes, some old love notes and pictures I haven't seen in years, I realized that as grown up as that girl was, as she had had to be to survive those years when everything was going to pieces, the truth of the matter is, I HAVE in fact grown up alot since then. Since her. Looking at the girl I was, it's hard to imagine myself as that girl again. I have changed, in more ways then I could have imagined, and even though I no longer fit into the jeans I donated today, I'm pretty happy with who that little girl grew into. It's not over, but it's going to be a hell of a journey, because it already has been.
I did better than I thought I would. I only cried once, over a box of Christmas decorations, the cheap ones we got from Target, because that's all that we could afford. But they're bright and still beautiful, and they made that little apartment home when we couldn't afford to be there for the holidays. Maybe we'll hang them up this year.
I miss Liz in moments like this, when she's supposed to be here to help me, to remember that girl. And I think I always will. But just like those Christmas decorations, I can always take the memories out and hang them on a tree, and enjoy how beautiful they are.