We are having a yard sale.  That sounds normal enough at first.  Toys, high chairs, jumpers, tons of clothes.  Purging items you can no longer use is a very normal thing.  Except, nothing feels normal about this at all.
You see, there are two high hairs.  One of which K spent countless meals in.  The other was a hand me down from friends that matched perfectly.  And we never even used it.  There’s the jumper K loved, and grew in through two houses.  And the second one I bought as a hopeful Christmas present for the boys.  Never used.  Toys that are age appropriate for the twins right now.  Toys they should be riding and pushing around the house.  But we know we won’t use them, and that the space is better used for other items.  And then there are the clothes. Tubs and tubs of every single item any of the three boys ever wore.  I planned to pick out a few favorites from each size.  But I quickly realized every item I could remember them in was my favorite.  And how can I get rid of items knowing that some day, I will wish I could hold these very items in my hand and take in their smell, their softness, and remember?

Thankfully, my memories aren’t constrained by cotton.  But I will admit to you that this has been hard.  I’m admitting it not because I want sympathy.  But because somewhere out there one of you is probably hanging on to something, and trying to figure out how and when to let go.

And I guess the point I’m trying to convey to both of us is the memories aren’t just in the things.  Clinching tighter doesn’t keep the sand from falling through your fingers.  And putting everything in the “keep” pile doesn’t make time stand still or today become yesterday.

That said, I still have a keep pile.  And I will on occasion get the items out for a chance to reflect.  And when I do, a couple of the special items will have a tear on them from that time I had a yard sale.  And a million memories sewn in.