I'm Trying, I'm Really Trying

On the floor, beside my workspace, is a pile. It is a huge pile, and it has been growing since Sept. 6 of last year. It has gotten so big that it is constantly toppling over and burying other things. I yell at my boys when they get close to it. I dread coming to my desk, because of this pile. At the bottom of this pile--which now holds bills, medical statements, folders about my teaching at UCSD, old newspaper clippings, art, coupons, books and photographs, are two boxes from my dead friend Natalie. I was given them at her ash-scattering. Friends shoved them into my car and I drove away without looking. When I got home I looked in at the piles of photographs, the memorabilia, her journals, this record of her life, and I felt so ill I shut it again. I have not been able to go in since. After her memorial I came home with a pile of her collages. I love them. My favorite is in the shape of a turtle, and full of messages and images that remind me of her and who she wanted to be. I couldn't stand to see the collages thrown away, so I brought them home, too, and piled them on top of the boxes. Now they are deep, and the piles scare me. I know they are holding me back, but I have difficulty moving forward. I read articles about procrastination, and how to prevent it, just to procrastinate. Part of it is this: these are such personal articles. Her father and sister didn't even want them--all the pictures of her life and history. Her pictures and albums were split between me and her dear dear friend Lauren, who has all the organized albums at her house in Austin. I guess part of the problem is, I don't want to safeguard all of her memorabilia, and yet I do not know if I have the strength to throw away these last pieces of her. It would be easier to throw away parts and pieces of myself. Because this is all I have. There will be no new picture and memories to replace these. I feel like a guardian of sorts. For who? I don't know. But it feels like a sacrilege to get rid of it.
I went on a hike with my friend Mitch today--who is always filled with soulful wisdom that seems to come from another place--and she suggested lighting a candle and making the process into a ritual. Brilliant! I picked the candle, and then I decided I need to have some Natalie music, so I got on Jonathan's bike, rode to Amoeba, and bought two Michael Franti albums. She LOVED Michael Franti. How could I have a ritualistic purging ceremony without Michael Franti singing back-up. So now I have the albums, I have exercised, I have opened the windows, I have gotten my candle, my matches, and eaten. And still, I cannot begin. Am I scared that even though I hate this pile, that if I move it I will be sweeping her out of my life?
OK. I am putting in the Michael Franti. I am lighting the candle. I am going to sing "All the Freaky People Make the Beauty of the World." I am going to move forward. She is with me. She is not in this pile. She will stay with me. Even if this pile is gone. I hope.