The Past Destroyed - Part I

My day did not go well today.

Opening the garage door to leave for a meeting, I realized that it was raining outside...and in. I noticed that the water was coming down directly in the center of the garage, where we have a large metal beam covered in drywall. The drywall was already pretty wet and my guess was that with all the snow Andrew and I had left on the deck, it was just too much and was melting more than the gutter could handle.

I probably should have not gone to my meeting at all, but instead I called my brother Jake to ask him for help  in shoveling the snow off the deck. He did, but when I talked to him prior to my second meeting, he said the leaking was still pretty bad. I decided to leave and get home to work on the problem. I'm sure a few people might have wondered why I was leaving 5 minutes before the meeting, but no doubt some of them have seen my status on Facebook and understood what happened.

When I got home I saw that the water wasn't just coming down in the center, but the entire length of the beam in the garage. Boxes we had on the sides of our garage were getting wet, and I immediately set to work removing them. What I thought had just been a few drips was actually a lot more. I was able to move or save all but one box - my box of memories.

This white box with a flip top and seam that runs down the middle had gotten water inside, and it had pooled about six inches full on the bottom. Jake and I tipped the box to corral the water out, and then emptied it inside the house.

On this box I had a note clear taped to it: Danielle's Private Box: Do Not Open. I put that note there years ago, not really believing it would be a deterrent should anyone want to pry, but more or less hoping to spare myself of the embarrassment should someone find my yearbooks and treasures. But the feeling of watching a simple element like water destroy the items inside was far more painful. Yearbooks, journals, diplomas, two graduation caps and a gown, pictures, trinkets, postcards, letters, copies of email, and a box of random keepsakes - all soaked with water. Some just a little, some completely drenched, but nothing made it out dry. I took a deep breath and looked at Jake, who no doubt expected me to lose my cool right there. My head was warm and I could feel the tears swelling. But I didn't have time for it - I had to get back to work. I sucked in my feelings and didn't think of the items until we had cleaned up what we could.

I don't consider myself a sentimental person (if you know my mother, you know why), but it's very hard to let go of your youth when you guarded it so carefully. My 4 journals detailing my life from age 14 to 24 was my coming of age. And my yearbooks (elementary, middle, and high school) were just as important. Sure, I don't see most of those people anymore, but they were reminders of a simpler time, and the innocence of youth. The drama was higher, and everything a big deal, but still easier somehow.

And there they were. Destroyed before my eyes.

I've started going through the pieces. Some things I could save. Single pieces of paper that weren't attached to anything. Photos where the ink hadn't run. A coin and a plastic keychain. Cardboard was ruined though. As was anything with pen ink. That's where the real trouble was with the yearbooks and journals - the pen ink bled into the neighboring pages. Most of the words written are illegible now, but I'm hoping that with a bit of drying, I might get lucky. In the meantime, I threw away a bunch of items, and took pictures of some things before I did. I won't be able to get them back as they are, but I can still hold on to the memory of them, and that's what counts, right? I certainly hope so.