Sentimental Journey

I am in the process of "purging" - getting rid of old toys that were well loved and used, clothes which no longer fit, and other items which have far outgrown their usefulness. This project is long overdue. The storage area in the basement was practically bulging at the seams - and my husband hasn't been able to get to his work area in months (I was going to say years, but I didn't want you to know how bad it is down there!).

I absolutely hate this job. It requires physical and mental stamina. I have to decide what pile to put things in - do I throw it away, do I keep it for "sentimental" reasons (only to throw it away in a few more years); and then if I do decide to keep it, I have to decide where to store it.

Not surprisingly, this process triggers memories. I found a little angel which DQ made for me to put on top of a little Christmas tree. DQ was only four years old, and it was our first Christmas in our new house. She excitedly handed the angel to me, wrapped with love and pretty paper, and begged me to open her gift first. As soon as I had opened it, and before I could even say how much I loved it, she grabbed the angel from and ran across two rooms to place it on top of the tree and proclaimed "See how pretty she looks, Mommy - and I made her all by myself". I also rummaged through tons of Barbie dolls and all of their little outfits and accessories. I remember the hours of play and delight the girls had on the balcony on our second floor, creating scenes with their imaginations where Barbie and Ken fell in love, got married, and had kids (in that order, too!). I feel a bittersweet twinge of nostalgia as these memories come to mind. My "babies" are teenagers, getting closer to spreading their wings and leaving the nest.

I ran across some of my old journals from eons ago. I haven't had the heart to open them up yet, because I know what is contained therein. I was such an unhappy sould for so long, so there is a lot of pain and anger and bitterness penned within those notebooks. I am half-tempted to just burn them, for I am not so sure I want my daughters to stumble upon them when I am gone someday. How would they feel about that person from so long ago? What would happen if they knew some of those secrets - would their opinion of me change, would they love me any less, or would they realize that the pain I went through is what makes me the person I am today?

The "purging" I did in those journals is much like the purging I am doing in the basement. I got rid of old feelings and hurts and disappointments, kept some of the good things about myself, and stored all of my experiences in certain compartments in my soul so that I don't repeat the same mistake twice and I can hold on to lessons learned.