As I’ve shared I’m joining the ban wagon and taking on the Marie Kondo challenge as I call it. Her presences in the home mades it an easy and calm way of sorting. I do understand there are area’s that become tougher and can cause emotion’s to flare up. I myself didn’t think I would get emotional about sorting paper. Its just paper right? OR is it? I didn’t realize how much paper items I have/had. It seemed as if though I were pulling on a roll of toilet paper. The piles kept coming and coming. I had to finally take a break and come to it a few hours later. To the same piles I had left, what was I thinking that they would disappear by themselves. Don’t I wish.
As I began to sort through my filing cabinet. The one that has my genealogy, birthday, Christmas cards, extra printer paper, scrapbook supplies, a few pictures, disks, and tons of thumb drives I happened to stumble upon a few journals and a scrapbook. What laid inside of those three items bring tears to my eyes. Yes, I was getting emotional over paper. Or was it? I had decided that I would pile all those items into one tote, and come back to it after finishing the other drawers on the filing cabinet. I was able to shred tons of genealogy information that is know longer needed with it being on my laptop. Those ugly yearly tax papers, yes they were shredded too. In two separate piles I place our children’s paper’s or small items that had been stored in the filing cabinet. But those piles were being to grow like wild weeds. They ended up in their own tote’s also.
It was time to kick the scrapbook drawer in the butt. HOLY COW scrapbook supply everywhere, two drawers worth of it. I’m surprised everything didn’t jump out at us when we opened the drawers. Who would thought someone could have so much scrapbooks supply. Well, I mean there are other people who have way more than me so, I guess I don’t have as much as I thought. No I do, lets get to the point, scrapbooking isn’t my thing anymore. I just like the paper. Oh Jeez there’s that word PAPER. Once I got every last piece of paper and sticker out of the drawers and piled onto my kitchen table, I know longer had a table. This project to way more time than I had thought it would. Of course I had to look at each piece of paper. Then the stickers oh man, this job was hard. Once I began reminding myself that I know long do this hobby what was the need for all of this supply. When my mind was set in this mode, it came easy to give the donate or sell pile. Most of it was donated to our neighbor who has small children of their own. What better place to donate these supplies. I did make a few bucks of the items I sold. But wait until you see the drawer now.
It was time to get back to the emotional pile. Tissue on hand, chair to sit in before I fell to the floor, and something to drink. As I begin picking up each items the emotion started flowing. For a healing to take place there is an emotional moment I believe.
The first emotional item I picked up was the white binder. I knew what was in there, but I also forgot. Did I forget or didn’t I want to face that fact of what those three rings were holding? I felt my heart start to beat faster as I began to open that shinny cover. I didn’t want to look at it, but I know I need face that fact that I had written those words. That I had cried harder than I thought I’d cried. This binder holds, notes from when I had first gotten sick six years ago. I began writing in a spinal notebook, then fell off the path and just stopped writing. I thought what if I move all this to a binder, and that way I can just add more paper as I write. That worked for a little bit, the off the path again. The color purple caught my eye. It was that, that the tears began to roll, burning my eyes, and not wanting to touch the purple paper. This was a letter I had written to my husband and children six years ago. Which I haven’t shared with them. The journaling is all over the place on the purple paper. I was angry, scared, and just wanted to tell my side and my feelings to my son. To this day I don’t feel as though I’ve been able to do that. Will I ever, I don’t know. Will I be prepared for that day, most likely not. Did I shred the writting on the purple paper, no it’s resting in the same place in the binder.
As I set the white binder to the side, I had to decide what was I going to sort through next, the Black photo book or the journal. As much as I wanted not to look through the journal I had to. I had to see where I began and where I am today. This journal has blogs about my year of taking care of my mother, leading up to the day that all came to a fast stop, to how I was wanting to kill myself, and hating life. I read the first few pages, crying over each word, and replaying the minutes and memories as tear dripped from my face. The more I read the more I felt like I needed to run, to get away. But I also wanted to stand up and scream, and just hit the person/s who damaged the relationship I had with my mother. I had always thought I was the rock some one, that they would never let me turn to sand and stream through their fingers. They were to be my rock, my support, my shoulder to cry on, to be my sheild, to be able to crawl on their back and hear them call me Sis. But I didn’t I didn’t hear that at all. All I heard were car door shutting, and knowing that was it. That our relationship would never be the same again. That we would part our own ways, and live life as we always did. Yes, as we always did. When help was needed I was called on, I was the running, the filler, the one who put her whole self into the relationship. Dropped whatever she was doing to help, to do her part. Would I do it again, as much as I can sit and say I wouldn’t I know I would, why? Because I have been shown real LOVE. And just because we don’t have a relationship I still love them.
The pages in the journal were heavy, heavy to turn, but yet wet from the tears. There were stains on each page that I turned. My writing in this journal also came to an end. I was tired or writting about being angry, and wanting to tell my side, that I finally just stopped writing. But I also, knew it was time for Eva to grow, to be someone that she was, and not what others had told people. To grow and have stronger relationships with people who want to be my Rock, who want to help me when I’m falling and who want to keep me here on earth. Those people are my Husband, Daughter, My Aunt, and My In Laws, and the few friends I have. Thank you to them, that I’m here writing this blog.
This book holds so many memories, memories that I’ll never let go. Inside the pages holds, pictures of my children when they were babies, first born, school pictures, graduation pictures, sports, and family pictures. There is also photos of myself when I worked at the school, a family picture of myself with my siblings and husband. That was the last “family” picture that was taken of myself with my siblings. And I believe the first one since I was maybe 2 years old. It’s hid the in the back of the book. That’s a picture I don’t understand, and I may never understand. We had that picture taken for our Mother’s Christmas gift. Our Mother was so surprised and teary eyed when she seen it. But what brings me to tears is to know that picture we had taken for her sits in the same box we gave it to her in all those years ago on that Christmas day. Yes, I found it while cleaning my mother’s house a few years ago. Wow, what a slap, or better yet, she doesn’t want to see her children, do we bring that much pain? I’d love to ask that question. Does the picture still sit in that box at My Mother’s home as far as I know yes.
On a better page on the left is of me while I worked at the school. One of my more for filling and favorite jobs. I had always dreamed of being a teacher, but with a learning disablitity and having issues reading, I never went that route in school. Actually I’ve never been to college. But I’ve been close enough to being a teacher. I was a teachers ad for may years. I know, I know, how in the world did I do that with my learning issues. Well, I was in my own world helping students with the same learning problems I had. We were learning together, by making gamings, flash cards, projects, taking test together, doing homework and classwork together, to studying togehter. I had so much fun with this job. I had grown to be something that I thought I’d never be a teacher. I’m proud to say that students I worked with are now graduated, and some hold jobs and some are going to farther their education. How exciting it that?? Pretty Darn Exciting.