by, February 1st, 2010 at 10:33 PM (683 Views)
In 10 days it will have been a year.
I decided I needed to start getting serious about clearing out his things. All of his shit in this house just weighs me down. I shipped a bunch of it to his family. I gave trunkloads of it to Goodwill. And now, almost a year later, I am tired of dealing with it. The rest of it is going in the trash. Fuck recycling. I want it out of the house. Now. Over the past few weeks, I've spent most evenings going through boxes of papers, love letters from old girlfriends, photos. Work stuff. Why didn't he tell me he made employee of the month? The receipt for the revolver. Five hundred God damned dollars he paid for that thing. One box of hollow tip bullets - the kind that explode on impact - with six bullets missing.
This past weekend, I made really good progress on all of the shit that was in his closet. And then something in me snapped. I found myself sitting on the floor in front of the nearly empty closet, while grief and guilt and God only knows what else hit me all at once: What have I done? It's almost all gone. He's almost all gone. I have reduced his entire existence down to a box of sympathy cards and newspaper clippings, a shirt, a box of photographs, a wedding ring, some ashes in a bracelet.
Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe not. But there's no going back now.
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