The yard sale advanced us in many ways. The house, closets, and storage areas aren’t cluttered anymore. A financial want was met. Items let go in a moment for a few bucks to a stranger are often little pieces of your heart. Music boxes, garments, old computers or televisions are recycled to folks you briefly meet.
A young lady of a gothic persuasion, somewhat like NCIS ‘ Abbey, pulled up in a Hurse and searched our sale. A motorcycle-styled leather jacket belonging to a late partner caught her eye, and it became obvious to me that part of him was in her. As she shopped and considered the jacket, I got to enjoy her personality and easily found that part of her that was a part of him. I enjoyed the visit like a visit with my lost partner, and made sure that jacket found a home with her.
I’d often find Michael, in 23 degree weather, standing smiling at a small shirt or a music jewelry box, with a tear at a memory of his sister LaDonna. Grief is the art of letting go with love. It can take an hour or a lifetime, but it’s a process. I still visit with old departed friends and loved ones nearly everyday once anything triggers a memory.
