My mother has been gone over a decade. I am the archivist of her memories; I have her letters to her mother (Nannie); I have the photos of her suitors and of her and my father; I have the cards and notes that my brothers mailed to her. I have her diaries.
The troubling items are the photos of her first love, Dan Brick. I have photos of him as a very young man catching his first fish, sailing, his arm around my mother's shoulders when she can't be more than 14 or 15, the early early story of their lives. I even have photos of him in a wagon as a baby boy. He was raised by maiden aunts - if there are surviving relatives, I do not know who they are.
And I have a collection of photos of a fellow who shared my life; I refer to him as nice Paul. A photo of him as a young boy in a blue polo; photos of he and I in the red chair or on a Windjammer cruise. So, someday, one may inherit these photos. Photos taken in the absolute moments of first seeing one another. But I will be long expired (and so will he). Why do we keep them? What do you do?
The artifacts of our lives - or the detritus. What is it? Who needs it? I cannot bring myself to throw out the photos of my mother's first love. Can I being myself to throw away/destroy/deny a sweet love of my life?
What would you do? What do you do?
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