A life in storage

I spent 2 hours yesterday starting the process of clearing out Megan's condo. I feel fortunate that we own the condo and I haven't been pressured by an over-anxious landlord to get everything out quickly. The gal who rented the second bedroom has been very wonderful and patient. She will move into Megan's room when its ready and Greg (Megan's old roommate who moved to New Zealand for the summer) will take his old room back.

So the boxes are slowing being packed. I don't really know what you do with a lifetime of memories. Even with a short 26 year life there are so many items. What do I keep? What do I give away to friends? What do I trash? I find myself trying to keep too much. Then I get pragmatic and realize that the red shirt isn't Megan; the red shirt is just a shirt, although it was a shirt that Megan enjoyed.

Boxes of books for the library, bags of clothes for charity, clothes for friends to go through for their teeny tiny daughters, all of these things are being sorted. But what about notes from old boyfriends and old journals from high school? I'm not ready to read it all. I know Megan; she carried alot of anger, especially as a teenager and especially toward me. No need to read that when I know she loved me at the end. But maybe one day? Maybe I should hold onto them for the "one day."

So much of Megan is in that tiny condo. It will be hard to see all of her things boxed up and stored away. It feels like I'm putting her life in storage. A life that deserved to be lived more fully than she got. A life that we all deserved to see fulfilled. I think we all deserved a whole lot more than this.

6 weeks--time isn't healing anything

It is now 6 weeks and 3 days since Megan left us. (I usually say she died, but since today I'm feeling pitiful, I'm going with the full victimization and saying she LEFT us--like she had a choice...)

I thought somehow it would start to be easier by now. It seems to have gotten more difficult.

Perhaps I was too busy with all the details that come with death. Funeral arrangements, family, food for the masses, etc. No time to think.

And then I was too busy when my parents house burned down just a week and a half after the funeral. I scurried to Louisiana to see if I could help. Lots to do when a house burns down. No time to think. Two weeks later I returned home.

And then I had an old high school pal visit for another week. So much to do in that week we had together. No time to think.

So now the grief just crushes me. I'm not a crier. Seriously, I hate to cry. I especially hate to cry in front of people. But I find myself crying at the most unexpected times. And I find this lack of control so utterly "not me." I mean, who cries over a Christmas that has yet to happen or cries at "so you think you can dance" marathons or cries in the middle of a Mexican restaurant when they see a little girl picking her nose?

Yep, I'm a mess. And I see no way to clean up the mess. Not enough time for that either.