Personal Journal

Boxes

I brought enough boxes home today that I was able to box up all of Jean's clothes. Even her shoes. Her stuff is out of the closet.

It really sucked. So many times I would pick up a piece of clothing and remember an instance when she wore it, looked beautiful in it, made me feel alive while wearing it. It was like trying to lift four thousand pounds, one dumbbell at a time. I cried.

When it was over, there was a box in there, and I checked the contents.

Photographs.
Photographs of Jean's life before I met her - her life in New Jersey.
I thought I'd be able to write about this, but I cannot.