Off the Scale
Anyone who has read that I have made all these trips to Memphis to deal with both boxes and stuff from the Cordova house & attic & U-Hauls and the boxes that Miller packed & stored, (He only expected them to be in storage for a few months)..... all who have read about it know that it has been a huge physical ordeal.
What I have not mentioned till now is the mental and emotional side of this process.
I can't describe the pain this multi-part expedition of discovery has ignited. I guess I understand (maybe) why Harry simply had Miller's packed up stuff delivered to my parent's guesthouse and just stacked sky high....mixed as the boxes are with old school notes and intensely personal memorabilia, dealing with them has been maybe more than he could stand and something I have not felt ready to address to others.
Every day after hours of unpacking, sorting, and crying, I'd think of adding a blog note, but ....I was alway too, too, too drained.
I know it seems like some sort of bragging to say that Miller had interests that spanned a vast stratospehere of subjects but it is true. ...Models, stained glass, brewmaster, music of all types (thank you WEVL & UT classical music classes) , electronics, language, history, engineering, horticulture, investments, reading, every freaking possible aspect of flight, concern for others, compassion, ......there is no end. With every box that I open , I am exposed to notes, plans, carefully & padded protected precious objects of love, sketches, voice recordings of such a varying magnitude of subjects that over and over I am AMAZED and get these multi-layer feelings that there is or will never ever be anyone like him.
Over and over I have I have had my heart ripped from my body. It is like a physical thing to which there is no end. I think it was expressed best in dialog in a movie I saw when they said "you have all this love in you for them and nothing to do with it". It is like it is cooped up inside about to explode. All you can hope for is diversion. My parent's move has been a big part of that diversion, and my life in Gulf Shores.
Sure there are moments of joy and surprise at what I find, and I frequently laugh out loud, but I have to say that the bottom line is "How could the Lord have taken such a FINE, fine, FINE person that I loved so much, and at such a young age".
The emotional drain has been monumental. Added to this is the drain of loss of the future. That is just as powerful as the loss of the past, maybe more.
Miller was a lot like me, in his keeping all sorts of weird but clever things that would be a lot of fun in the future.
He and I discussed how much he wanted to be a Dad and what fun he would have teaching his kids what really mattered. All of this it is up to me to dispose of. Wow, imagine how hard that is.
Another element of the whole process has been the total insanity the opening of the many boxes that Harry packed that contained stuff like rancid Crisco and stale flour from Wilderwood Ln. I do not understand why on earth he had all this stuff packed and delivered to my parent's home. I have dealt with mold-covered 8th grade football uniforms, rusted wastebaskets, dusty empty boxes, pure junk, in addition to precious things like report cards, and achievement test score sheets that show Miller to have been in the top .5 % of the nation in math and science and logical reasoning.
It seems that Harry had every photograph that was ever taken of our family delivered to the guesthouse. Even the ones in frames and the ones of his parents. I have been immersed in time-travel of the oddest kind. I hope that later he doesn't regret disposing of all of his past. I have saved the most significant things of course. I wish him the very best and hope to put together some photo albums for him especially.
And it is not only the past that presents itself in these stacks of boxes, I find all the shattered elements of hope too. Everything a life was built on is in these boxes. The only thing that helps me retain sanity is reflecting on the other people who endured Tsunamis and earthquakes, ship sinkings, war and all the components of human existence that have left moms w/ nothing but sparse reminders of the life that they had and the future they hoped for.
If anyone questions the ME of today and even thinks for a second that I might behave strangely or wonder WHY I am now who I am....stop and consider that it is a miracle that I am not either dead or in an insane asylum. Unless you have been there, no one understands the magnitude of the total loss of all children and whole family. Who would have ever imagined that I would be childless, husbandless, and trying to earn a supportive income on my own after the investment that I made in the 30 yrs of the most challenging of family life.
What does the future hold.....who knows. I feel fearless, after what I have endured, I am seasoned and ready for WHATEVER. That is a liberating thing, maybe the only positive to have come from this process. Need a volunteer for the dare-devil thrill ride, I am ready ! What have I got to lose ?
What I have not mentioned till now is the mental and emotional side of this process.
I can't describe the pain this multi-part expedition of discovery has ignited. I guess I understand (maybe) why Harry simply had Miller's packed up stuff delivered to my parent's guesthouse and just stacked sky high....mixed as the boxes are with old school notes and intensely personal memorabilia, dealing with them has been maybe more than he could stand and something I have not felt ready to address to others.
Every day after hours of unpacking, sorting, and crying, I'd think of adding a blog note, but ....I was alway too, too, too drained.
I know it seems like some sort of bragging to say that Miller had interests that spanned a vast stratospehere of subjects but it is true. ...Models, stained glass, brewmaster, music of all types (thank you WEVL & UT classical music classes) , electronics, language, history, engineering, horticulture, investments, reading, every freaking possible aspect of flight, concern for others, compassion, ......there is no end. With every box that I open , I am exposed to notes, plans, carefully & padded protected precious objects of love, sketches, voice recordings of such a varying magnitude of subjects that over and over I am AMAZED and get these multi-layer feelings that there is or will never ever be anyone like him.
Over and over I have I have had my heart ripped from my body. It is like a physical thing to which there is no end. I think it was expressed best in dialog in a movie I saw when they said "you have all this love in you for them and nothing to do with it". It is like it is cooped up inside about to explode. All you can hope for is diversion. My parent's move has been a big part of that diversion, and my life in Gulf Shores.
Sure there are moments of joy and surprise at what I find, and I frequently laugh out loud, but I have to say that the bottom line is "How could the Lord have taken such a FINE, fine, FINE person that I loved so much, and at such a young age".
The emotional drain has been monumental. Added to this is the drain of loss of the future. That is just as powerful as the loss of the past, maybe more.
Miller was a lot like me, in his keeping all sorts of weird but clever things that would be a lot of fun in the future.
He and I discussed how much he wanted to be a Dad and what fun he would have teaching his kids what really mattered. All of this it is up to me to dispose of. Wow, imagine how hard that is.
Another element of the whole process has been the total insanity the opening of the many boxes that Harry packed that contained stuff like rancid Crisco and stale flour from Wilderwood Ln. I do not understand why on earth he had all this stuff packed and delivered to my parent's home. I have dealt with mold-covered 8th grade football uniforms, rusted wastebaskets, dusty empty boxes, pure junk, in addition to precious things like report cards, and achievement test score sheets that show Miller to have been in the top .5 % of the nation in math and science and logical reasoning.
It seems that Harry had every photograph that was ever taken of our family delivered to the guesthouse. Even the ones in frames and the ones of his parents. I have been immersed in time-travel of the oddest kind. I hope that later he doesn't regret disposing of all of his past. I have saved the most significant things of course. I wish him the very best and hope to put together some photo albums for him especially.
And it is not only the past that presents itself in these stacks of boxes, I find all the shattered elements of hope too. Everything a life was built on is in these boxes. The only thing that helps me retain sanity is reflecting on the other people who endured Tsunamis and earthquakes, ship sinkings, war and all the components of human existence that have left moms w/ nothing but sparse reminders of the life that they had and the future they hoped for.
If anyone questions the ME of today and even thinks for a second that I might behave strangely or wonder WHY I am now who I am....stop and consider that it is a miracle that I am not either dead or in an insane asylum. Unless you have been there, no one understands the magnitude of the total loss of all children and whole family. Who would have ever imagined that I would be childless, husbandless, and trying to earn a supportive income on my own after the investment that I made in the 30 yrs of the most challenging of family life.
What does the future hold.....who knows. I feel fearless, after what I have endured, I am seasoned and ready for WHATEVER. That is a liberating thing, maybe the only positive to have come from this process. Need a volunteer for the dare-devil thrill ride, I am ready ! What have I got to lose ?
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