THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING A SENTIMENTALIST

First, I have to make a disclaimer.  I am not a hoarder.  I eschew accumulation in my life and I only keep those things that have significant emotional value to me.  I do not have extra of anything (ok, except maybe books), I buy only what I need, and I find homes for those things that do not fit any longer in my life.

Having said that, there are certain things that I do not part with.  From the time I was a child, I have kept every significant drawing, letter, card, trinket or otherwise that is attached to a memory, or a feeling that I never wanted to forget.  The first time Roy threw a letter away I wrote to him, I was horrified and crushed at the same time.  How could anyone do such a thing?  Just like every journal I have, these are the things that chronicle our lives - that tell others our stories, that remind us when we begin forgetting.  They are the very fabric of our souls, these things.

Last night, as I was cleaning out the garage in some pre-prep moving rituals, getting rid of those things that no longer have a place in my life, I came across the box that holds every letter, every card, every significant thing from my life.  Well, actually, it is about 4 boxes - 5 if you count the storage tub of journals, but I don't count that.  I have every letter and card from every old love or boyfriend in my life.  I have get well cards handmade for me by the entire third grade class when I spent so much of my life in the hospital.  I have mounds of letters from my closest friend and chronic penpal growing up, Jason.  Letters from my friend Ann, so close to my heart for so long and only recently connected again.  But those letters are our foundation, the things that made us who we are today.  To see the metamorphosis, in hindsight, that makes you all you are now is a powerful thing.

I have letters and cards from my little sister, from my brother, every letter ever written to me during my year in Venezuala from anyone and everyone.  I have letters from grandparents and great-grandparents long gone.  I have the 3 cards that my father ever gave to me of his own accord, with actual personalized notes.  I have every card and love note that my children have ever written me.  And most importantly, I have every card, every letter, every treasured item that my mother ever gave to me.  Throughout my life, people have thought me silly for doing this.  My closets have always been filled with shoeboxes of letters, cards, memorabilia and small trinkets that are worth more to me than any amount of gold.  And last night, I realized just how blessed I am to have all this.  While it may take up space, I think that these boxes are the most precious things I own.  I sat and sobbed last night when i found a letter from my mom, and I know that this is how, someday, I will pay tribute to her.  If it is the only book I ever write, it will be enough.  

So for those of you who are not sentimentalists, I caution you.  Someday, these things may mean more to you than any possession you have ever owned.  They are gifts from your loved ones in word format, and there is nothing as precious as that.