When I get stuck, writing helps me get in touch with those thoughts that lie just under the surface. It moves my energy to simply let the words come.
For the last few days, the push I’ve been feeling for weeks to gather up and get rid of some of Joseph’s things seemed to disappear.
I would sometimes wonder about the forcing function behind getting rid of things; what was going on when I gave away his exercise bike or clothes, or sold Joseph’s car,? And then, when all of a sudden (so it seemed), the energy to do so stalled, what was this is about?
I do believe there’s something called “magical thinking.” Something that happens when 
someone close to you dies and you can’t really process all that it means. It’s a phenomena that Joan Didion wrote so well about. For me, I think the running out of steam had to do with these magical, under the surface, not necessarily rational, thoughts:
If I get rid of things, it will be over. — “it “being the loss; the wanting to know what or who’ll be left….
If I don’t get rid of things, I won’t have to face it. — “it” being the vacuum; what feels like the looming need to rebuild my life….
I know both statements are wishful thinking. I know “it” won’t be over and I know I’ll have to face whatever comes. This morning I just cried.
But bringing to consciousness what was lurking in the background does shift my energy, at least for now. The feelings, challenges, unanswered questions remain. But I trust the next steps will all unfold in their own time. ☺️
When my dearest friend Linda died, I got rid of nothing. I had her clothes altered so I could wear them. I carried her leather backpack everywhere. I put her cereal, her toothbrush, her jacket and other things on a little table, with her pictures, and made a shrine to Linda. I slept with her blanket wrapped around me. Eventually the things got rid of themselves. I no longer wanted to keep an old box of cereal, for instance. I realized everything she touched was precious, and she had touched ME. So I didn’t need her stuff as much. I still carry her backpack, after 25 years! It is worn, patched with leather patches, and some of the zippers have been repaired. May you find the perfect way for you to be with Joseph’s things.
Barbara, what soothed me more than anything was a collection of stories by Clarissa Pinkola Estees called The Radiant Coat. I listened to the tape so often that I memorized it. May I send you this collection? It’s on CD now. I’d love to gift you with this, and I want you to be free to say, no, right now, if you already have enough to read and listen to.
Barbara, I love your unfolding of what’s beneath the surface and how it shifts your energy. Thank you. And Claudia, love and thanks for your story about the backpack and the other stuff of Linda’s.
Love you bunches!
Barb, Your writing touches me to the core. Thank you for being willing to share so deeply in this way. Love you Cathy
When Daddy died, I made an alter of his things in my foyer, using his chest of drawers as the storage and the presentation. The brown marble top was beautiful and the drawers had held his and Mother’s clothing since I was born. I kept his wallet, his work shirt, his army picture with his soldier friends and their big gun, the last father’s day card I had given him and his plaque he received from 54 years of work at the News Democrat. He was my whole world. I stayed at this alter each day for quite a long time being with it all. One day, as I was re-reading his Father’s day card, I noticed his own writing on it. He had written something just a few days before he died, to me and Brett and Mark!!!!! It had been there all along and I could not see it. In deeply imprinted ink using a shaking hand, he wrote, “Dear Lee Ann, Brett and Mark, what I always want for you is to be happy.” signed Dad, Eugene, PaGene. I wept for the wish and my inability to fulfill it due to my grief. I began to search and develop my own skills for being happy. Four years later I got in touch with Joseph Bagby through a Christmas card he sent Mama at the nursing home. He began to teach me how to be present, accepting, mindful. open and nonjudgemental. I began to feel truly happy and present. I slowly removed Dad’s things from my sight and kept what I wanted for later. It was a process of trusting myself in connection with God and All That Is. I trust my body to say what, when, if, yes and no. Not the books. Everyone has to follow their own path and do what makes sense for them. It’s a journey and the stories are so beautiful, so LIBERATING. MUCH LOVE AND POWER TO BARBARA SLITER, WHO KNOWS WHAT SHE NEEDS AND PROVIDES IT WELL.