NOVEMBER 20, 2012: “The Little Bag That Was Meant To Be Opened” …

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“What is something I’m thankful for”? Okay so I’m a bit of a neat freak. Some call it “OCD”. I can organize things, thoughts and even people RIGHT out of my life when necessary, which, by the way, is NOT something that I am proud of. To the contrary, I tend to compartmentalize things I don’t \know what to do with into neat little piles of oblivion that rest either in my own mind or, as in the case of “the bag that was in a bag that was in a bag inside a bag”, has, at times, been my greatest downfall.

Sunday I was on the highest shelf in my tiny, temporary closet rooting around looking for something. A few unzips into an old gym bag I had used to contain all the other bags I didn’t want to get rid of yet didn’t know what else to do with and I was inside a smaller bag that belonged to Mitch. I had completely forgotten to remember that it had been inside my “bag of bags” for going on 13 years. Slipped my hand in to grab the first thing I saw and found myself giggling as I remembered the conversation we’d had about it on the day he had finally decided it was time for me to have some of space in his drawers and closets.

“Baby, THIS right here is your new best friend! Why, you ask? Because she’s MY best friend! Why is THAT you ask? Because, when the hair looks good, Daddy is happy, and when Daddy is happy, you’ll be happy! She gets the center drawer right here … but you get ALL the rest!” It’s TOO damn bad that I can’t “type” the deep, drawn, sexy French-Cajun boy inflections that were his voice, and also TOO damn bad that I can’t “type” how he was standing there in the bathroom that morning holding that damned blow dryer in his hands! Mitch was all about “the stance” and there was just “that way that he stood” when he was talking about something that was important to him – kinda like, back leg straight, one hip up, other leg crooked out in front. Nah, words aren’t doing it justice. Anyhow, I digress. There are still pieces of his hair caught in the back of it, and the cord was STILL wrapped around the handle and tucked in “just this way”, because that’s how he always did it. OMG, he was so OCD! We were so much alike for so many reasons. There was something sweet and often unspoken about all the ways we understood one another.

So this is what I am thankful for: I am thankful that I have grown, recovered, survived and “moved on” just enough so that I can now open some of my old bags of thoughts and laugh, not cry. Time truly can heal all wounds, and yes, there is a reason that God never lets us forget the memories He knows we’re gonna need and even sometimes smile and laugh about before it’s all said and done no matter how much we beg and plead for Him to just “erase them all from our mind” when they hurt too much to remember!

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