Living Proof

Well, you might remember I had an appointment to go through the twisted four years of estate planning, taxes, and medical emergencies--the paper relics that I couldn't quite deal with. Two and a half hours, four boxes, one grocery bag later . . . . Dan and I had made four and 3/4 boxes for the trash, plus half of a trash can.

Before that, I had the closet mostly worked out. I cleaned the small closet, too. I cleared on my desk and my chairs, other parts of the house as necessary to reorganize how this was going to work.

I need two boxes, one small, one medium, both for memorabilia. That will be fun. I'm basically done.

I found more letters. Dan found them, actually. He said, "Did you donate books to the library?"
I had to think about it. I said, "Yeah, the Resident's lounge, I took them my husband's professional books. They didn't have any."

There were a couple of other thank-you letters.

He said, "You did all the right things. You don't need these any more." He threw the letters away.

Two hours later, I got nervous and went down to the trash room to find them. I couldn't. I am just going to have to trust that I will remember. I did the right things. And when I had the proof, I couldn't find it anyway. Had I found it, it would have meant nothing to anyone except me.

The meaning has to be inside. Living proof.