It's Time to Put the Suitcase Away

It's been sitting open on the floor for the last month. Things have been removed, added, and stacked on it. The dog has napped in it. I've tripped on it, shoved it out of the way, and carefully walked around it in the dark. What I haven't done, is put it away. That suitcase I used going to and from my Dad's memorial service is still there.

Whether happy or sad, making the final move that ends something is paralyzing. The symbolism of a final step is so significant to me. I'm quite sure this is why I struggle to finish anything. There's always one more thing that could make it perfect. More effort, more input, more rewriting, more energy, more creativity, or in this case, MORE TIME. By ending something that is not, in my eyes, perfect, I have failed. But if you don't end, you don't acknowledge completion, there's always a possibility you can fix it, a chance at redemption. Unfortunately, death doesn't work that way.

Which takes me back to the empty suitcase. Putting it away feels like defeat; admitting and acknowledging what is lost forever and never will be.

Today is finally time to put that suitcase away. It's been cleaned out. An empty shell. Instead of clothes and personal affects it's full of anger at my failures. The I should haves, could haves, why didn't I's, what if's, the intense fears of rejection that are plaguing my thoughts daily and my dreams at night.

It's the fear that has been a startling realization. Me, who has always preached living life fearlessly. Raising my children to Boldly Go, take the risk, try something new, express yourself. I have realized I have lived with so much fear that instead of being a helpful warning, it became the blanket in which I coddled my fragile psyche.

Am I being hard on myself? Yes, I admit that. But sometimes I think it's necessary to move forward. The first step to healing a wound is usually very painful.

The suitcase has now been shoved onto a shelf in the garage between a roll of paper towels, a container of disinfecting wipes, and Christmas wreaths that weren't used this year. At some point it will be brought out again, hopefully for a happy reason. For now, it symbolically holds all the negative parts of me so I can work through the grief. So I can process and come out the other side of this feeling all the love that I know my family, both my Dads, would want me to feel.

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