The area in which Stacey lives, has an on-line bulletin board of sorts, where you can list items you want to sell. Some of the items listed, are very reasonably priced, and other things the seller wants just a "tad" too much.
Stacey has started to sell off some of Benjamin's things. Things that he played with when he was a small boy. She was selling a small bookcase of his, and I told her that I would like it, and would exchange it with something of my own that would likely sell.
Now, here's the problem. Actually, it's not really a problem, it's more of a personal heart ache for me. No question, that Benjamin has outgrown these items, but somehow, and in no way rationale, the selling of these things is hard for me. Why? Because I still remember the little boy he once was. I know that everyone grows up and gets older, but I am still longing for little Benjamin. You're probably thinking that I have a screw loose, and that may be true. But it is, what it is.
I need to accept the fact, and actually I do, at least as far as my mind is concerned, that Benjamin's not a little boy anymore. But, oh how I do miss the little fellow that would fit in my lap, rocked to sleep, and slept in our bed for several years. Precious memories to be sure. Time has a way of stealing some of your memories, I know mine has. Perhaps, I'm just wanting to be Peter Pan, and never grow up.
Unlike, some of my friends, I keep a lot of things that are very personal to me. My hope chest, where I store my memories, is almost full. I could, I suppose, go through the chest and start throwing things away, but I can't, and I won't. When I open the chest, I see Benjamin's artwork, sympathy cards from when my Dad passed away (and I know you're thinking good grief, she's a pack rat), my wedding dress (why exactly?), the frog outfit that we put on Benjamin, when it was time for him to leave the hospital. The list, just goes on and on. I don't open the chest often, because looking at some things brings back memories that weren't especially pleasant ones. Be, that as it may, I'm holding on to them. I know in the future, the boys perhaps will be the ones that will have to sort through the chest, and I'm pretty sure I'm save in saying that everything will end up in the trash. And, that's okay, because most of the memories inside the chest, are my memories, and not necessarily theirs.
They always say, that if your house was on fire, what thing(s), would you take out with you. Important papers, of course, and after that I'd have to give pause to think about what else to take. I have so many needlepoints that my Mother made for me, and it would be impossible to decide, at a moment's notice, which ones are uber (made up word I think) important. There is one, however, that I know I would take. Mom made me a personalized picture, I guess you could call it that, of the important buttons of my life. Buttons, from when I was a little girl, up until my wedding in 1974. That particular piece could never again be recreated.
Just writing about these things, causes me to reminisce about my life. About where I am now, and where I'll end up in the future. This is not my hope chest, but you get the general idea.
P
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