A Life in Storage
August 2023 – Post divorce fall out continues. Every time I come “home” (i.e. hometown, parents’ house), I’m forced to tackle another box of memories. Sometimes I know what’s coming like requesting my Barbies (and Kens!) entombed in my daughter’s closet. Other times it’s when Ex has chosen to clean out a closet. Piles of boxes will be delivered to my parents’ house. Last Christmas it was all the childhood/family board games. Sorry! Clue. Mystery Date. Life. Metaphors for my, well life. I kept a few, passed on others to my kids and nieces, and donated the rest.
Some boxes are innocuous. Old teaching files, so dated, worth a laugh and into the recycle bin.
Others bring me to my knees. When I opened one box, I was unprepared to find my beloved departed Labradoodle Roxy’s toys, leash and collar.
In other news, rummaging through my unit, I found 300 Euros cash from when I left the UK/Ireland at lockdown, an unopened 2020 calendar (because that year was a write off!) and a missing photo book my dad had made for my Son and his backpacking trip.
My 10×10 storage unit can only hold so much. I went from being a near hoarder of memorabilia, to being forced to clear it out, bit by painful bit. The four bedroom family home of 20 years when I left, including a garage and deep closets, made the need to weed through a lifetime of belongings unnecessary. I left the house in the middle of the divorce, February 2020, never dreaming a pandemic was coming, Ex would keep the house, AND bring in a new woman (Ex-Friend of mine “T2”) and I’d never be in the house again. Now 3 1/2 years later, all the photo albums/journals, scrapbooks, home movies, I diligently put together still remain in the home. I always felt the need to document my life, and my children’s. Clearly I’m still doing it by blogging.
Visiting the Storage Unit
I visit my storage unit every three months or so. I repack. Use or lose some items. Meaning diminishing as time goes by. My ancient bike. Finally gave it away. Rusty roller blades, dirty yoga mat, goodbye. Ice skates, hmm, TBD.
“Christmas” is packed away. I managed to take those precious ornaments and decorations the Last Christmas 2019. They haven’t come back out of storage the last three holidays. Not sure if or when they will again. Christmas Past. Just memories of holidays with an intact family of four.
China and Crystal
The last time I was “invited” into the family home was over two years ago. This was only for Ex and I to go through the china cabinet before he gave it away (along with most of the long time family furniture and the piano that I enjoyed playing for years, and forced my children to take lessons. It didn’t stick). Wedding china, never used. A plate for you, a plate for me. The gravy bowl, the casserole dish, who gets what. Who cares!? Overpriced, never used. What a strange tradition.
Crystal. Here, four wine goblets each. Gold rimmed champagne flutes. Now those I actually like. In a bittersweet twist, we opened a bottle of champagne, drank from the wedding flutes, and burned the 25+ year old wedding candle engraved with our names. A marriage burned down in flames. Fitting. So now precious space in my storage unit is dedicated to carefully packed china and crystal.
Boxes Await
I write this while flying “home” after my Summer in the City in NYC. Piles of boxes await yet again. Ex has apparently delivered the requested Barbies, for which I’m quite excited. He has been cleaning out the garage and has more mysterious items for me to go through. My former sense of dread is overpowered by curiosity and nostalgia, and a “bring it on” mentality.
Right here, I paused writing this. Cut to two weeks later. I went through the Barbie boxes (with lots of laughs with my young nieces; reels of this frivolity is on my Instagram page), and other belongings of my Daughter. Some sentimental, some bound for the thrift shop.
The first four photo albums/journals (of probably 100) were finally given to me that had been scanned. I lost a night there going down the rabbit hole of 1995 and 1996, first pregnancy and birth of my son. A life time ago. A few days later we were celebrating his engagement over Labor Day weekend.
This is Your Life – Inventoried
I had some extra time last week, and my new goal was to completely inventory my storage unit. After I couldn’t find any of of our birth certificates or other important papers, I decided it was imperative. When I started filling the unit the divorce was raw, the pandemic was dire. I threw things in haphazardly. I spent four days in there. Labelled every box and crate and bin. 115 plus other items. I cried, I laughed. My life in storage.
These are the things no one tells you about divorce. The lasting ramifications for years to come. The luxury of growing old and comfortable in a family home stuffed with treasures and memories to pull out at will, to dust off and smile and reminisce, is no longer. The Empty Nest collided with having to literally empty the physical nest. It’s a lot.
Post Divorce Pain
The divorce was finalized two and a half years ago. I left the family home three and a half years ago. So many emotions have not been processed. I had to drive to the house at least six times to drop off or pick up Son (living at “home” for the past year with Ex and T2) or Daughter (visiting). One neighbor burst into tears upon seeing me, as we’d been very close. Every drop off was a kick in the gut. The final one being when T2 was backing out of the driveway and I had to drive by her and hide out of sight. Daughter left the car and I burst into tears. I decided there will be no more drop offs or pick ups. It’s unnecessary pain, salt in the wound.
The Nomad Life. Freedom.
I stumbled into this nomad life and have now continued on this path decisively for 3 1/2 years. It’s such a shocking contrast to the security and stability of a home, and a family of four. Flying solo. I can now say, being nearly weightless of possessions, brings a newfound freedom. Every item I lug about in a suitcase is special. Streamlined for take off.
Every time I lock the door of my storage unit and exit the prison like structure, I breathe a sigh of relief. My worldly possessions await my next visit, like a museum, frozen in time. I’m free to continue exploring the world, untethered. Writing, photographing, documenting, making new memories that are mine alone. Freedom awaits.
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