I sit on the floor staring at the coffee table. A mountain of old checkbooks stare back.
For months, these very same checkbooks have been tucked neatly away on a shelf.
Every day I’d see them. And, say to myself… “I need to do something with them.” Then, turn away. Thinking… “Another day…”
Two days ago I moved them to the coffee table – a small task that took colossal strength. Yesterday, I methodically flipped through each one. Knowing I was procrastinating. And, somehow making things more difficult for me.
These are my father’s checkbooks. They date back for 12 years. A chronicle of part of his life. Getting rid of them feels like I’m letting go of part of him.
Seeing his handwriting… Flipping through each page made me feel as if I’d hear from him again one day.
Later today, I’ll shred them. Slowly & hesitantly at first. Knowing that as I do so, I’m losing something that will never return.
Regardless… It’s something I must do. I can’t continue to hold on.
I do better than some when it comes to letting go. But this struggle shows me I still have a long way to go.