When Erik passed the twins and I packed our entire house into a storage unit and moved. We only took with us what fit into the already full trucks of our two cars; one carry-on luggage that was stuffed for me by my cousin with random clothes and a few hampers filled with the twins’ necessities. It was all we took with us. I couldn’t think about going through any of our stuff or even seeing it at that time. I actually still don’t know if I can even two years after now. But this past week I had to stop by the storage unit to grab something I really needed. Luckily I’ve only had to go to the storage unit less than a handful of times since we packed it. It is always hard to see our entire lives with Erik just packed into what is essentially a large box with walls. Memories and things just pilled on top of each other scaling as high as the ceiling. When Erik passed this was the easiest option for me. Really the only survivable option I could see. To just pack everything away and get out of the place that now held so many hurtful memories. Memories of me discovering his body. Memories of me in such shock while holding our son that no sound was able to come out. Memories of me getting over his body and trying everything in my power to save him even though I knew the chances of me saving him after this specific injury was next to zero.
When I first shut that rolling door on the storage unit the only thing that was going through my mind was, ‘Well, there goes my whole life. A whole life that has been forced to fit into a 10’x30’’. I couldn’t believe it as my cousin put the lock on the door. And in that moment another wave of immense sadness just washed over me and I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to see our stuff anymore. I didn’t even want to think about it anymore. I just wanted to lock it and leave it. So that’s what I did. Every so often it would cross my mind that the unit and our stuff were still there. Usually when I need something for the twins. Or when I think about how much I’m paying a month for it. Or the times when my stomach gets the queasy feeling when I think about the fact that I will need to tackle going through all the stuff one day and still not knowing what I actually want to do with all of it. All of the memories in physical form from our entire lives together. How does one even begin to go through, let alone think about how to handle all that stuff? All the stuff that still holds so much meaning and sentiment.
Well, the question presented itself again this past week when I had to go to the storage unit to get something. Of the less than handful of times I had to visit this unit since shutting its doors this one has been the longest in between. As I drove into the gate the rumbles of uneasiness started in my stomach as the anxiety of having to roll up that gate and see the stuff inside set in. The anxiety grew stronger and stronger and I neared the unit. The image of the one thing in the unit I had the worst anxiety about seeing flashed in my mind as I parked the car. The safe. The safe that held so many memories surrounding the night he passed. The safe that was right next to him as I tried to save his life. The safe that flashes me back to that moment in time when I see it. The safe that I had asked the movers to toss out but they didn’t. And in the less than handful of times I had to be in that unit that safe was what I dreaded most. I keep telling myself I should just have someone come and get rid of it then I wouldn’t have to dread seeing it anymore. Then I could just dread seeing the other stuff, but at least the anxiety wouldn’t be as much as seeing this safe. But somehow I can’t get myself to coordinate that. I still don’t understand why. I found myself holding my breath as I unlocked the hook and rolled up the door. I tried to divert my eyes from where I knew the safe was and went straight for where I thought what I needed would be. Still feeling like I was holding my breath I rummaged as fast as I could. Finding it I turned around and found myself nearly sprinting out of the unit. I caught a quick glimpse of the safe as I rolled the door back down and my stomach dropped. And just like that, it brought me right back to that image of me standing over Erik. All the feelings washed over me as I tried to steady my shaking hands to lock up the unit. Again I found myself holding my breath. Not sure why but I was doing it. Click. The lock was finally on after what felt like forever and I jumped in my car as quickly as I could and shut the door as if it would shut out the images of that day. And out came a breath so hard I felt it brush my hands that had settled in my lap. The breath that I was holding as I shut that door again on our life together. There I sat again questioning how I could possibly go through all our stuff, how I could possibly figure out what to do with all of it, how I could possibly face all the memories that would come from it, if I could barely get through going in the unit just to get one simple thing. And the question continues, what do I do with all the remains of our life?
