What will I do with them?

I time travel a lot. When you are 53 years old and have had a life of adventures, there is a considerable amount of memories to revisit. It’s not all easy to access, and it gets harder to tap into as the years go by. I like to think it is because of the vast amount of experiences, not because of the aging mind.

Photos help. A few years ago, Tim declared, “I’m not taking any more pictures. I have so many. What’s the point? What will I do with them?” True. There are boxes of “Kodak moments,” there are multiple computers with digital files, there is the Snapfish account, and the iPhones so near capacity that the iCloud space reminder pops up regularly.  Although, it’s often hard to resist capturing another flower, mountain, or gathering with friends and family, I get it. He had me somewhat convinced of his “non-documenting” new way of life, until he was gone.

In preparing for Tim’s celebration of life, one of the first things I did was create a slide show. I spent countless hours accessing photos on every device and storage place. And yes, I had moments where I thought, there are too many photos! Simply because I was addicted to them, and exhausted. There were too many, and yet, I couldn’t get enough. They sparked the memories that took me to places all over again. They brought endless tears and laughter. I can’t imagine how empty it would feel without these visual reminders.

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If we journal, we also leave behind our writing. This is one reason why I do appreciate my own writing. It’s a place to jog the memory and ultimately, a documentation for me to look back on.

Between Tim and I, we probably have 20 journals. Some have only been written in a few times, none of them are full. But like me, Tim would buy a new journal for a reason. He would use just as many pages as were needed until the purpose for writing or the desire had passed.

I have opened a few of his journals. I did not do this lightly. I know this is a sacred space. Remember the young girl’s diary that had a lock and key? Interesting that in this age with a password for everything, there is no security on your paper notebook. As it turns out, one of the journals that I opened had a profound message for me on that particular day. I took it as a sign for me to proceed.

After reading I had the thought, what will I do with these journals? I put them aside, feeling assured that I didn’t need to answer that question just yet.

There is a juxtaposition when I consider what we leave behind in photos and what we leave behind in a private journal. Let’s face it, most photos document happy times or at least that is how they appear. It’s one dimensional. It’s only a visual. And because emotions are not either or, we certainly can have a smile on our face, even when we may be feeling torn, heartbroken, or depressed. But the writing comes from some place deeper. And when you are writing for your eyes, there is a good chance that what you see on the page is truth.

The photos and the journals are, somehow, proof that we existed, that we thought, that we felt. They are proof that we can experience joy even when we are sad. Proof that we can feel anger even when we feel love. Proof that we can achieve great success and still doubt ourselves. Proof that our lives can look beautiful and carefree and still be complex and imperfect.

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I am glad to have any kind of proof, and that Tim actually enjoyed being photographed. But, I get the reality that these photos and journals will land in the plastic garbage dumpster by the curb someday. Not because their new owner doesn’t care. But because Tim was right in a way, somewhere along the line, someone will say, “what will I do with them?”