Reflections

Remnants

• By fannieb
• November 4, 2014
• No Comments

I went to put away my flood insurance papers in the kitchen drawer that holds some important papers. Rick, the original property manager of my complex, instructed me to keep my owner’s manuals there. Over the years I expanded the contents of this drawer to include receipts for home services and high dollar purchases, home and auto insurance policies, alarm contracts and the like. You can imagine after 14 years this drawer is pretty full. In fact, it was overflowing, again.

This drawer is a barometer of my life, containing documents I hold onto because they represent things I’d spent a lot of money on or are in force contracts. Among the slew of papers were Roto-Rooter receipts, the invoices for my carpeting and hardwood flooring purchases, and owner’s manuals for my washer, dryer and refrigerator. As I randomly pulled papers from the draw in search of things I no longer needed, like expired policies, I came across a stack of veterinary receipts. Receipts for the care of my late, beloved cat, Tabitha. Seeing those receipts made me reflect. It was only nine months ago that I had to put her down, after a month and a half of anguish. I knew deep down that her sudden lack of appetite at Christmas was not trivial, but I had not wanted to admit it.

Those vet bills for hundreds, even thousands of dollars, brought me to today. Why was I saving them? Why hadn’t I thrown them out in the spring? I reflected, but had no answers. Today it was easy to do though. Feeding them into the shredder was cleansing. Tabitha is gone, has been gone, and holding onto these elixirs in the form of receipts didn’t make that any less true. That part of my life over. That door slammed shut.

Then, I came to a purple folder buried almost at the very bottom of the congested drawer of papers. I opened it not remembering what it held and it took my breath away. More of Tabitha’s papers, only these were her adoption papers from the SPCA dated February 3, 2001. She died 13 years and a few days from when I rescued her. I paid $60 and she was mine. And, I was hers.

What good are these papers now? No more relevant than the veterinarian’s receipts I easily shredded. Mere remnants of my life with Tabitha. A chapter lived, shared, loved, and now ended. As I closed the folder and placed it back under the pile in the drawer I realized I was able to let go of the loss of my pet, but I wasn’t ready to throw away that which started my life with her to begin with. Although it’s over, I will cling to this remnant a little longer. In my memory today, tomorrow, maybe until next week. But it will fade and be forgotten until I’m forced to make room for more recent documents. Maybe then these adoption papers will hold less sentiment. Maybe then I’ll be able to free the space they hold in my drawer and in my heart.