The little container

Moving again. Another painful purging of possessions and loss of structure and direction--but that's for another post. 

I was cleaning out the long closet in Carl's office dubbed, "The Gallery," because of all the wall hangings opposite the wall of bookshelves. A few storage containers had found their home for the past four years on the floor of this room. Who knows why they landed here instead of the high shelf in the garage. Most of these containers were large, but one small plastic container kept the large ones company. I had dragged this little container around the East Coast for more than three decades, carrying Stephanie's clothes everywhere I sojourned. What would I do now? I was in a "throw away" mood. In previous moves I had not questioned this box, hadn't opened it since I had laid those clothes to rest 35 years ago. However, the circumstances of this move demanded practicality, and I was on the lookout for anything I could release. So I opened the box...I held one little outfit in my hand and emotion rushed like a torrent. How could the feelings still be so strong? Maybe it was the trough of loss we had been in for two months, but I could almost feel that tiny body in my hands. Too much.

I replaced that little outfit in the little container and closed the lid. I taped it and labeled it, Stephanie's clothes. I don't know when I will give up that little plastic container, but it won't be this move.