A few days ago, I decided to spend a day clearing greeting cards, letters, and photos that have been taking up space. I went through all the letters and greeting cards sent to me over the years. I also went through all the old photos I had taken when I was a child. With the letters and cards, I was trying to purge notes that I didn’t feel like I needed to keep. Joke birthday cards that didn’t have much hand-written sentiment went in the recycle bin. But I kept letters and cards with lengthy hand written notes. I didn’t read much of what was written, I planned to save that for another day. Just going through all the different correspondence from loved ones, current and past, was emotionally draining, though rewarding and cathartic at the same time.
One thing I noticed is that there were several Valentine’s Day cards from my dad who passed away about 8 years ago. Most cards that came from my parents were orchestrated by my mom, as I suspect is true in most families. I didn’t remember that my dad personally gave me that many cards. In my mind, cards always came from my mom. He wasn’t quick to say “I love you” in person, so maybe this was his way of expressing that. What’s more, is that he didn’t just simply sign the card in several cases. He wrote a longer note in addition to the card message.
I took the time to read these over the rest, maybe because I miss him the most of those that have passed. The notes were endearing and not of what I have in my mind of a stern and unloving father. Looking at the photos, I always saw smiles and joviality from him.
The photos that I have span a short amount of time, from about 1988, around the time my family moved to Tennessee, to about 1991. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that sometime shortly after the last of these photos was taken is when my father quit/was fired from his job. And the period of that moment forward dominates the memory of my youth. His despondency and depression, remoteness and resignation. Filled with angst and fighting among him, my mother, my siblings. Rarely a happy moment.
I’m glad I came across those notes from him and the photos of him smiling and having fun. I’m reminded that my memory of him in my youth, which dominates my impression of him, is just a blip on the radar of time. As I became an adult, my dad slowly came out of the shell caused by the professional trauma unknown to me. Maybe the fallout from what happened with his career is something about which I need to ask my mother. Or maybe I just let it be. The decade before my dad passed away I regarded him as a loving man. It’s funny how impressions of something or someone can change over a lifetime.
Not one of us is perfect and I don’t want to form my memory into perfect times. I want to remember time as it truly happened, without judgement. Those photos and letters and cards helped me remember a happier time before things became tumultuous in my family. And I’m grateful for the time that I spent clearing out these memories. I look forward to and dread the day that I read through those letters and cards in full. While I’m sure I will gain a new appreciation and perspective or rediscover a memory lost, it will no doubt take an emotional toll.