this morning #1561.
this morning, almost immediately after we’d tossed the dirt on top of our bagged-up possessions, i started having second thoughts about what i’d chosen to dispose of. my initial object was a stack of letters from my father. up until my teenage years, we’d write back & forth. that’s all mom allowed. without warning, one day his letters just stopped. the last one i got came two years ago. i kept writing but this year i finally gave up. as much as i wanted to bury that hurt, in the end i couldn’t do it. instead, i went with the last remaining trace of the summer my little sis & i’d spent with our cousins. given the way they’d treated us, i’d held on to that long enough. still, i feel like burying the letters might’ve served me better.