The Things We Find in Our Closets

This is a true story of something that happend last week.

One day last week I began sorting thru the junk in my closet. Closets are the repository for all the things that we don�t have an immediate need. You know, all those clothes we never wear anymore; shoes and all sorts of interesting stuff. All those things we never use yet believe that at some point in the future will be of some use.

So here I am sorting, one pile for those items I will throw away and another for those I will definitely keep. Needless to say the pile of things to toss is the much smaller one (honestly it is more I am simply too damned lazy to carry all this down three flights of steep stairs and several hundred yards to the dumpster.) Those damned stairs!

There is one large box on the shelf that was packed full of this and that, many smaller boxes of more junk. As I was going thru it one smaller box at a time I finally reached the bottom and the last small box. Opening it up I discovered it was filled with long lost photographs. Sitting my old bones there in the floor I began to look at each one remember each person and �way back when.� For nearly an hour I sat reminiscing and then there was the struggle to get back up on my feet. (Oddly the old joke about what us old folks do when we are on the floor comes to mind.)

As I stood there waiting for the blood that seemed to puddle somewhere just north of my tingling a*s to flow south to my numb legs and feet there in the bottom of that box I found two of those Kodak disposable cameras. One was completely used up but the other had five or six frames left. I had no memory of what might be on them nor even how long I had them. Now not being one to waste a lot (does the word miser or stingy perhaps come to mind?) having no live subject to �shoot� I simply took pictures of my books.

It was later that day I started out the door to the grocery store when I remembered these two cameras lying on my desk. So on the way to the store I dropped them off to have them developed. Then off to the store I went and promptly forgot all about them.

It was not until the following Saturday that I rediscovered the claim tickets in the back of my billfold. So while out running errands I stopped and picked up my two packages of pictures. Back in the car I opened the first package and began looking at each picture and remembering the excursion my daughter and I made several years before to a renaissance fair. None of the pictures were very good. Some dumb-a*s had his thumb partially in the way!

Then I opened the second package and began to sort thru them. Suddenly there was one that just cut me apart. There stood Chris by the car. Gods! I remember that day. He had wanted to get out and drive around alone. I remember having to insist that he carry his O2 pack. Oh how he hated that! Only a few days before his doctors had put him on O2 and insisted he keep it with him all the time.

Then the next one with his sunglasses on and the tears began streaming down my face. And then there was two more both of him and Rimshot lying on the couch. Such a silly dog, but Chris loved him so much.

I remember how Rimshot would dash around the house, up the stairs to Chris�s room and back down searching for Chris. Even now if you ask him �Where�s Chris?� he will charge off searching for his buddy.

People passed by and looked at this old man sitting there in his car crying. How long I sat there just staring at those four pictures I have no clue. Then I heard a tapping on the window.

When I turned my head I saw an elderly woman. I let the window down and she asked if I was ok. Was there something she could do to help? Try as I might, I simply could not explain so I showed her the pictures and somehow she understood.

She said nothing but reached in and patted me on the shoulder several times. Perhaps it was her silent understanding or perhaps it was the simple act of patting my shoulder but the tears stopped.

I gave her a simple �Thank you� and then she walked away.

Those pictures are more valuable to me that all the gold in the world for those pictures simply reinforce the memories of my Golden Son.

My heart weeps
For your beautiful smile

My ears long to hear the joking sarcasm
�You�re a getting to be a grouchy old b*****d, Dad!�

My arms miss
The strength of your hugs

Golden Son! Golden Son!
My spirit begs for your presence

Yet I know all I have to do
Is gaze up to the night-time sky
And there you are

Glowing so bright, so red
High up at Orion�s shoulder
Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse

My Golden Son

Reviews

[Winter McPherson]

Wow! Very moving! I have no words...
I'll find some...I liked the way the story moved from the closet (a mundane task we all can relate to) to your discovery of the pictures of your son. It flowed right into it, so that the reader is drawn in to what seems to be a quaint story of an old man's chores then taken by surprise by the sudden turn into grief - yet a grief we don't know who for. It's kept a mystery until the beautifully poetic ending that embraces your son so poignantly!
It's a great piece.

[Angel's Lady]

Very nice of you to share with us such treasured memories. I try very hard not to look in those boxes but sometimes my hands go ahead and open them anyway. The moisture streaming from my eyes must mean it's raining inside the house again. I hate when that happens.

[emmajoy]

I just read your poem about the promise... came to your list of other pieces and by chance, found this...

What can I say? Saying how sorry I am isnt enough, isn't right, is it?

But I can share.. I've lost two sisters, rather our family has.. Hannah died fourteen years ago. Some time after, I found an old roll of film, took it to be printed... and yes, there were some showing her at an outdoor swimming pool. There she was, jumping into the water, there she was with her long hair all wet and sticking to her face and climbing up the steps and so on.. It hurt, but, somehow, it was magic, like a message from her.

Pray God, Chris is with you every day to bring you magical messages.

[lilain]

There is not much I can say about a story so beautiful and memorable as this. I came across this by way of a comment on your page, so I eagerly leapt to the story and read away. However, I never imaged you touching my heart so deeply. Finding those pictures is a gift brought to you by by loving Fate.

Thank you for posting this. I will not forget it and will keep it close if I should ever have the chance to reach out a pat another's back in unconditional support.

All best,
lilain

[Toni Prehoda Kahler]

Your familiar opening scenes of digging through one's closet drew me right into your story, and I felt somewhere in the back of my mind the metaphor that closets naturally contain....I was taken with your flow of story and the suspense of what was on the camera....every scene hinted or revealed....the emotion rolled over me as I read your beautiful lament at the end. Stars for remembrance.....awesome.

[An Ordinary Woman]

"Perhaps it was her silent understanding or perhaps it was the simple act of patting my shoulder but the tears stopped." I think it was a silent understanding and the patting of your shoulder. Somehow the knowledge of being understood made it ok again. This story is very touching, heartfelt and honesty. Just very lovely, I really enjoyed it.

[Xtabber]

Wow. An excellent remembrance. Touching and well done. Anyone who has found a "lost" treasure understands the feeling of discovery, of wonder, when you find something you were sure was gone forever. Nice work!

[radian7]

I am glad the writer kept looking through the boxes and had the camera film developed. Your writing has a flowing ease and personability that is easy for the reader to feel like they know the writer very well. Beautifully written. Thanks.

[Ron B]

ShadowWolf, this is excellent and honest writing. It was also touching and I was deeply moved by the story. I could related to it, including the photograph, though my relationship to former friends pales in comparison. Bravo.

[ShadowWolf]

Thank you Lizzie-Lady! Your words/thoughts mean more than you imagine.