By EM RUSCIANO
I have a question, it’s simple enough and one I’m sure most of you have had to find an answer to at some point in your adult lives.
What am I to do with the emotional and physical mementos of my recently failed relationship?
We’re talking 13 years worth. I have hundreds of overflowing, stuffed suitcases full of the gear. I’m pretty sure the salvos don’t want them and I can’t bring myself to throw them away…
So I carry it all around with me (okay, not the wedding album and the dress) trying desperately not to open the wounds, as I balance them precariously on my head.
I can’t even bring myself to make eye contact with them. I have put the physical items in my junk room; piled high are all the photos, cards and presents that my husband and I exchanged.
That sounds so strange and grown up.
EX-HUSBAND. I have an Ex-Husband. I will have to ask my EX-Husband. Yes, that is my EX-Husband.
Sorry, just practicing.
When I see families frolicking together in parks I stare wistfully at them, remembering when my family once did that. Truth be told we were never really much for frolicking in parks but we did partake in the odd activity that involved being outside together.
Oh my, now I am down the rabbit hole, recalling glorious times of togetherness. Those memories are bittersweet, they sting and unpacking them is uncomfortable. It’s like picking at a scab you know will be a bleeder but you hack at it anyway, hoping it will speed up the healing process.