The drawer at the top of my dresser is one of those skinny drawers that are really useless for storing anything. I suppose some women use it for socks, underwear or even jewelry. My drawer is a haphazard collection of items that have neither rhyme nor reason. It contains my memories.
Some of the items in the drawer are easily recognized as having sentimental value, like the Mother’s day cards or the anniversary card form my husband. As typically would be found in most Mother’s collection of mementos, you can find the plastic necklace made for me by my daughter and the gum ball ring that my, now six foot three, son bought for me on a Mother’s day many years ago. Others might also guess that the silly little hat decoration (a hat the size of a thimble) was a craft from one of my children’s school projects. The sweet little love letters from my husband need no explanation.
Other items are more abstract. In this drawer I have a scrap of green cloth that was once part of a very ugly church banner that I had made and immediately realized it was a mistake. The priest who saw it he cracked a joke about how it looked like my bath towels hanging out to dry in the church. I think I keep it to remember to not take myself too seriously. I also have a piece of handmade wrapping paper from a gift given to me by a friend. It is red with handmade gold polka dots on it. My friend certainly didn’t make the paper - He most likely re-gifted the paper to me. I can’t remember the gift it was wrapped in - just the person who gave it.
Other items in the drawer recall memories more bittersweet - like the tiny crocheted pink rabbit pin my sister made in the year before she died - some 30 years ago. Or the newspaper article about the event that my husband and I organized for a Sudden Infant Death fundraiser after we lost our son so tragically. For some reason I have kept a letter - a rejection letter of sorts - that brought me pain. I look at the letter periodically and remember the pain. Maybe I keep it as a way to guard myself from being too hopeful. Afraid of disappointment again.
Some items are unrecognizable even to me. There is an assortment of rocks in the back of the drawer. No doubt they were given to me by a child on a walk, or I picked them up on vacation. One is black, flat and smooth. I am sure I took it from Lake Superior but I can't remember if it was from a trip with my sisters or from a family vacation.
Sometimes the feelings attached to the memories change - what was once a memory of my little girl is now a reminder that she has grown up and the feeling is more bittersweet than sweet. The disappointment of the rejection letter has faded after the newness has worn away.
Periodically I clean out the drawer - once every ten years or so - I am certainly no neat freak! I throw away the items that have lost any meaning or memory and keep others. It becomes a bit of a ritual for me - a time to choose what I will keep and what I will throw away. I think I will throw away that letter - time to let go of lost hope and hurt feelings and become hopeful once again.
