clip ties and aviators

It's amazing how much you learn about someone after the fact. Tomorrow will mark two months since my dad passed away, and I'm finally starting to experience days here and there when the weight is not so heavy. I was anxious about cleaning out his house, because it contains two generations of stuff, since my grandparents lived there before him. The notoriously depressing scene of uncovering photographs and old clothes and knickknacks that spar forgotten memories...I dreaded all of that. And don't get me wrong, it's impossible to make emotional or physical progress without all of that mixed in. But the whole "sifting" process—trash, Ebay, keep, garage sale, appraiser—is starting to be therapeutic. And fascinating. How often do you do an archeological dig into someone's life?

It's so hard as a child to envision your parents as anything but givers of gifts and punishment. They serve a function to you, but they are not like you, in that they couldn't possibly have a "life" like you have a life. Once I left for college, my parents started taking new shapes in my mind. They revealed more of their interests, talked more about their pasts and their mistakes and their relationships. They made lude jokes (hereditary) and cried openly. They couldn't protect me anymore, so they tried to understand me, and eventually that same desire transferred to me. I had learned so much more about my dad since moving last June, but it is still amazing to me that his personality is becoming more and more defined through the remnants I am finding now.

There is a Police Pile, which has weapons (seriously.), a bulletproof vest, ammunition, a BB gun and pellets, department patches, and nightsticks, for good measure. There is a bag full of camera equipment with a tripod and multiple lenses. There are 3 sets of speakers for the hard drive full of classic rock. There are hundreds of burned DVDs and an Excel sheet of their titles. There are flight and driving simulator games. There is a box full of maps from nearly every state, but most are from Colorado. There are pilot charts and photographs from plane shows. Books on everything from whittling to buddhism to bird watching to ... cats. Standard black Bic pens and mini flip-notebooks by the dozen. Hilariously inappropriate jokes printed off the internet. Clip ties and aviators. A lifetime supply of sneakers for a man who didn't run.

It's all so endearing that I have to wait a few days between each session, not because my heart can't take it, but because I want it all to just rest in my mind so each detail can find its own nook to settle in. I laugh out loud more than I cry, and I think that is the genesis of progress.