Have you ever heard that old hymn, “Precious Memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my soul?” That song keeps playing over and over in my head. Why? These boxes and one more contain my childhood memories. Sadly, this is all that I have. My parents, like many, were divorced. My childhood albums were split between them. I have not really ever seen itty bitty pictures of myself. Maybe one? I know they were taken because my mom took a TON of pictures. A. Ton.
The reason that I have so little is that death does terrible things to families. I’m not sure why exactly. Maybe it’s managing expectations for “things” combined with grief. That’s probably it, but it sure doesn’t heal those wounds that death causes by tearing each other apart.
When my mom died, I lost my immediate family. My mother remarried when I was a young teenager. My stepfather was wonderful to me, treated me like I was his own child. He took care of my mother through her illness and we were both with her when she died. I was thrilled when he met someone and started living again. He had spent so many years selflessly taking care of mom and I wanted him to LIVE. To enjoy his life. About six months after they married, he decided that he didn’t want contact with me anymore.