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Week 3 // Relics of our Time


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When someone dies, we receive back so little of them… not the warmth of their hands, or the glow in their eyes, or the song of their laughter.  We have only objects to remind us – and they become worth their weight in gold to us. He was halfway across the country when he died, there was no getting to him. I was returned his things mysteriously from a far away place. They are the pieces of him that clung tightly to his body when his soul decided not to anymore.

He wore this watch every single day for all the years we knew each other. Took it off only to go to sleep at night. It was the watch that got him to our first date 15 minutes early just to be sure I wasn’t waiting – and every other date we ever had exactly as early. It was the watch he always told me the time from, because I was too lazy to read a watch myself and I liked that he would do it for me. It was the watch that got us to every concert and to all the parties with our friends or family on time. Despite the fact that I worked at a watch company, he never wanted another one. This was the only watch he ever wanted to wear. And because so, whenever I look at it, I see him. It so completely embodies him and – most importantly – our precious time together.

If you’re new to this project, you can read more about it in this post.
Please share
 with anyone who you feel can relate to the imagery, my hope is that it gives many others a visual for something they are going through in their own lives.

10 Comments Post a comment
  1. Doug had a very similar watch. It was initially lost in the wreckage and when I asked about it after receiving his wedding band and flight badges, someone went back out to the crash site, looked through the weeds and happened to find it under a tuft of grass. The band had broken to pieces but the face was still intact. I have the pieces of the metal band and the watch face still and will never part. I remember that watch so well. I gave it to him for his birthday, I think, he was the one who remembered the dates. You can clearly see it in many pictures and on our wedding day…I loved the look of that watch on his wrist…

    Monday, February 17, 2014
    • Oh my gosh, how amazing that you actually got it back. The one thing we could never recover were Drew’s glasses – i’m still torn up about that. We even searched everywhere in the orchard, and no luck. But so glad I do have his watch. Thanks for sharing that with me, and for reading =)

      Tuesday, February 18, 2014
      • Sunglasses! I never got those smokin’ hot sunglasses back – well – he looked smokin’ hot in them. Glad you got the watch. For some reason, I like the thought of having the watch…

        Tuesday, March 25, 2014
  2. I cling to objects so much–I know where you’re coming from. The old sweaters from my father and grandfathers, I can’t get rid of them. I wear them because I feel guilty that they’re taking up space in the closet.

    But my grandfather’s sweater is wearing out. The elbows are about to come through. Then I have to get rid of it.

    At least I get the chance to grieve slowly. I grieved when I lost them. I grieve when I lose each possession of theirs. But it’s a reminder that objects pass away just like people do. I learn not to cling too much to things and people but let them live their life.

    But it doesn’t come naturally…

    Monday, February 17, 2014
    • Thank you for the comment. I really love your way of looking at it as being able to grieve a bit more slowly over the loss. That is so true. Eventually I am planning to make a quilt out of a bunch of Drew’s old shirts I have saved, he loved plaid shirts and I think they’d make a wonderful patchwork quilt. Who knows, maybe you could have something made out of the older sweaters or parts of them too! Thanks for reading =)

      Tuesday, February 18, 2014
      • Thanks for the idea! I’m so un-crafty, that your insight would have never occurred to me.

        Since I tend to be literary, let me play off the metaphor. Since people and stuff don’t last, we end up with just pieces of them in the end. We can still create and include them in what we create, in our imagination. Once the memory starts breaking down from time, pieces of them get incorporated in various parts of our thinking and our lives.

        This raises the question for me: How will I incorporate the memories of my passed loved ones into my life? I tend to let them just fade, but I’m glad your artistic sensibility reminds me to transform them and make something beautiful and meaningful out of them.

        Tuesday, February 18, 2014
      • What a wonderful question – i love this metaphor! It made me think of one of my favorite lines about loss. Since you are literary, you might very well be aware of this one. It is by W.S. Merwin…

        “Your absence has gone through me
        Like thread through a needle.
        Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

        I’m awfully glad some of what I’m doing helps others see how to weave those loved ones into our lives in creative ways. And glad you shared your ways with words about it all with me. It is so great when we can help each other to see in new ways =)

        Tuesday, February 18, 2014
      • Beautiful! Thanks for the quote. I didn’t know how much of my father was in me until he died. It’s great unearthing bits of him inside myself. Everything I’ve *always* done has been stitched with his color.

        Tuesday, February 18, 2014
  3. The goosebumps are my favorite part.

    Monday, March 3, 2014

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