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| My smaller file cabinet plastered with photos of the people and things I love |
I couldn’t face the contents of my file cabinets
the winter of 2014. Too many decisions what to keep, pitch, and forward after I
retired my lavender farm and writing workshops. I avoided the top drawer of the
tall cabinet in a corner of my study’s closet—could not tread upon the remnants
of my beloved deceased, relapse again into memory’s dark and unknown depths.
Patience, I prayed.
Rest. Restore your mind, body, and spirit this winter. Write.
Faithfully, each weedy
growing season since, my gardens reminded me how paper multiplies like
dandelions in this trade. Better attend my files when the snow flies. Although I’ve
conducted business electronically the past twenty-eight years, I prefer the
tangible manuscript to read and edit, and tear sheets of my published works to archive.
At last, upon the
conclusion of this past harvest, the seventh year since 2014, I declared
January 2022 the month to purge the old. Time to make room for the new.
And so my weeding began
Tuesday, January 25, with the small desk file beside my right knee. “Save only
what takes your breath away, and what you may need for future projects,” said
my inner administrator.
Thus, a box of
trash overwhelmed my “saved” pile. In the process, I recovered my paper
calendars from 2021 back to 1994, the commencement of my writing life.
I struck an easy
stride the following day as I opened my study’s closet door and pulled out the top
drawer of the tall cabinet beside its wider companion in the corner.
Folder upon
folder, I recognized names on former workshop rosters, and guest speakers for Michigan
herb and horticultural therapy conferences I’d attended at Michigan State
University.
Leaders of those organizations
and educational events developed a camaraderie of like minds I’ve found common
in their fields of interest and study—a servant’s spirit to perpetuate their
mission of teaching the healing virtue of growing and consuming herbs and
flowers.
Proof of an
abundant life stored in the second and third drawer filled a large plastic bag.
Within the bottom drawer, my transcripts from one community college and two
universities, class syllabi, and graded assignments remain for my random
reference and amusement.
There’s always
something to learn again.
The third snowy day,
emboldened to complete my goal, I opened the top drawer of the corner cabinet.My larger file cabinet with more people and things I love
Front to back, the
paper trail of sanctified family memorabilia—birth certificates, marriage
certificate, Warranty Deed for our property, passports, family photographs I’ve
collected to frame—waited for my touch.
And yes, I removed
the contents from the last hanging file in the back.
Unfolded each
paper.
Read every word.
Studied our firstborn’s
beaming face in photographs she left behind. They all tell a tragic story too often
echoed in this broken world.
Dear Reader, I weeded
nothing from Becky’s papers. I saved what took my breath away, what my younger
daughters need for their future. Their sister’s birth and death certificate
rest in peace.
And so do I.
