Letting Go

I've looked at every picture.  I revisited each child's elementary school treasure. Every album, journal, class photo, birth announcement, first hair cut, first tooth,  baby shoe, favorite blanket, obituary, momentous news paper clipping, misshaped pottery dish, painted hand print, and glittery Christmas ornament.  I threw away as much as I could.  The cedar chest cannot hold one more good thought.  But it's all there.  Forty five years of memorable events in one 46"x 18"x 14" wood box.  

I'm storing it at my oldest son's home.  I tell him it is still mine, unless something happens to me on the road.  In that case, it's contents belong to both boys.  It is their life, going way back to before either were born.  It is their history.   In a box.  

I've thumbed through every beloved book, scanned each favorite recipe,  burned old love letters and journals.  I've forgiven and released every relationship that didn't end favorably.  I've donated loads of clothes, books, gadgets, and all the excessive matter we collect over the years. The hardest to release are gifts that were given as an act of love.  I've learned to keep the "act" and release the material item, unless it has a functional purpose.  I must minimize my property and expand my memories.  

I think I'm almost ready.  I am tired and several hundred pounds lighter.  I am organized.   I know exactly what I own and where it will be placed in my van.  I have researched and collected the gear and supplies I will need to stay safe in the elements I want to enjoy.  I have contact information with all my friends and family.  They have this blog.   We will stay in touch. 

I am ready.