The Things I Still Carry

There are things I thought I would have put down by now. Feelings. Memories. Memorabilia. Questions that don’t have answers. I used to think healing meant letting go of everything. But I’m learning that some things aren’t meant to be let go.

I could easily let go of his stuff: the stamp collection, his Physical Chemistry textbook, and his clothes for a tall, slender man that my 12-year-old son or I could not wear, and even eventually the train and train track that circled above our den in our Florida home prior to our move to Indiana. 

Anything that captured memories was a keepsake. 

My son shares funny stories about his dad during family time. My daughter journals her feelings and memories of her dad. I often tell her that her dad would read her journal because he wanted to know what she was thinking about. It was his attempt to connect. 

One of our last times together as a couple was going to a conference where I presented the results of my dissertation at a roundtable session. He told me, “It was the first time he understood what I had been doing.” I was glad he could see the results of his belief and support in me. 

Some things are meant to be carried in our hearts differently, gently, and with intentionality. Not as a weight that pulls me down but as something that reminds me of what matters. Of what still matters. Because carrying something doesn’t always mean you’re stuck.

Sometimes, it means you’ve chosen not to forget.