Spring cleaning is what they call it, when you go through every drawer, every cupboard, every shelf. What precipitated this was my coming across a program on Netflix called "Tidying Up with Marie Kondo". Tidying up is nowhere near what happens on this show. People who have let their stuff get the better of them end up piling all their clothes on their bed and picking up each item of clothing and asking themselves the question: "Does it spark joy?" If "yes", then it is kept, if the answer is "no", then it is thanked for its service and recycled. And that is just their clothing. Similar actions happen to all their possessions until order is restored.
I did something like that while my husband and daughter were away. And everywhere I went I found photos of our nephew who was killed last Thanksgiving. In piles of paper to be filed, in packages of photos to be organized, in cards and letters read but not put away, in drawers and behind magnets he was there, a testament to the faithfulness of his mother who mailed these photos of their son and daughter every time a new one was taken. They usually spent time on our fridge until a replacement arrived. These pictures were mailed from across the country with a parent's pride and with love to all of us who know them well, who call them family.
Finding these photos was particularly poignant as our nephew would have just celebrated his nineteenth birthday this month. The actual day was marked by a birthday party at his graveside complete with red and black balloons with notes written on them, released to the heavens. There were tears, laughter and singing: "...Happy Birthday dear Jordan....". It is a testament to the generosity of his family that they have worked tirelessly to close the intersection, that is in another state over fifteen hundred miles away, where their son was killed. It is a testament to their faithfulness that they continue to celebrate their boy, honouring him and his life by making new memories and remembering him with joy.
I did something like that while my husband and daughter were away. And everywhere I went I found photos of our nephew who was killed last Thanksgiving. In piles of paper to be filed, in packages of photos to be organized, in cards and letters read but not put away, in drawers and behind magnets he was there, a testament to the faithfulness of his mother who mailed these photos of their son and daughter every time a new one was taken. They usually spent time on our fridge until a replacement arrived. These pictures were mailed from across the country with a parent's pride and with love to all of us who know them well, who call them family.
Finding these photos was particularly poignant as our nephew would have just celebrated his nineteenth birthday this month. The actual day was marked by a birthday party at his graveside complete with red and black balloons with notes written on them, released to the heavens. There were tears, laughter and singing: "...Happy Birthday dear Jordan....". It is a testament to the generosity of his family that they have worked tirelessly to close the intersection, that is in another state over fifteen hundred miles away, where their son was killed. It is a testament to their faithfulness that they continue to celebrate their boy, honouring him and his life by making new memories and remembering him with joy.
Beautifully written.
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