Rene Descartes famously said "I think, therefore I am" - which I have humbly misappropriated for the purposes of this entry and changed to "I think, therefore, I keep". Or perhaps even better: 'I pine, therefore I am"... Of course, I could go on and on. Needless to say, nostalgia is a major part of the modern way of living, of remembering our lives, and it is doubtless part of the reason for the proliferation of giant mega-storage units throughout major urban centres. With all the new technologies that allow us to take a plethora of pictures and videos we are no longer forced to be selective as to which mementos and photos we keep - we can keep it all - and we do!
Now, I have complained here before about the lack of affordable housing in Vancouver and its accompanying lack of space and so I have, needless to say, had to become quite adept at paring down, at deciding as ruthlessly as possible what stays and what goes, but this has become particularly hard with respect to all things Nahanni. Like those letters one sometimes stumbles upon from an old lover that transport you back in time to that moment of unfettered joy (or sorrow as the case may be) I am loathe to let go of any items from her life that transport me through time to those most precious of moments. Today I was attempting to sort through Nahanni's clothes, trying to root out the ones she seems to be so quickly outgrowing and I pulled down a box of baby blankets and immediately started to weep. I tugged out a white flannel square, faded and almost ratty looking and clutched it to my breast. My head told me to toss it into the charity pile along with the other baby blankets but oh! This isn't just any blanket! This is the blanket in which she was swaddled, out from which her tiny, pink hatted, one-hour old head poked from her daddy's arms as he rounded the corner to the hospital room into which I had been rushed after a hemorrhage yanked us so rudely from our beautiful home birth. I know I will never forget that moment in time when we first were reunited, we three; how my breath caught in my throat and tears sprung hot to my eyes and I finally allowed myself to cry out all the fear that had gripped me as I lay in the ambulance praying to see my newborn again. I know I won't forget that, so why can't I let that blanket go?
I remember watching one of those home-improvement shows where the people are forced to deal with the ungodly amount of clutter and crap they've accumulated in their houses over time. One burly man began to cry openly when they tried to take away an ancient, decrepit old vacuum cleaner that no longer even worked. The host pressed him as to why he would want to keep it and he revealed that it was 'piggy', the vacuum cleaner his mother had used when he was a child, before she had died. Finally he was convinced to pose in a picture with it which they framed for him and, to his credit, he gave his little piggy up. I wonder to myself if that will be enough for me. I have my little box of mementos that I would grab on the way out if there were a fire - that tiny pink-striped hat, the clothes she wore that day on her first car ride to the hospital with her dad, racing behind the ambulance. But what of the other things? The stained receiving blankets with which they rubbed away the vernix and blood of her birth - why do I keep those? I've tried a dozen times to force myself to toss them but I have thus far been unable - until today. I lay them there, beside her little treasure box and I snapped a picture. After I finish this I will go into her room and put them in the bag with the other give-aways. And I will let them go. Just as I have had to let go of so many things in life, as we all do, I will tuck their memory away in the form of a photo that I will take out from time to time and smile or cry as the case may be and I think that will be enough.
Except that white blanket. That one I am keeping.
No comments:
Post a Comment