We're having unseasonably warm and beautiful weather in Parker this week. The temperature has been north of 60 the past two days, with clear blue skies sporting some of those wispy clouds that remind me more of April than January [Note: updated forecast is for a high of minus 3 degrees on Tuesday, 1 Feb!]. The sunrises have been breathtaking, but have been totally outdone by the heart-stopping sunsets. The views of the snow-capped Rockies against this backdrop...so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes. It's the kind of weather that gets me outside and moving forward again, even if it is only to walk the dogs.
Today I did some cleaning in the garage. Josh has been working on our big bad blue Bronco, and it was time to make some room to safely walk through to the freezer! While I was out there, I was finally able to gird my loins and load up some of the medical equipment left from caring for Bill. Felix, Bill's prosthesis which we named after Felix Ungar since Bill was like Oscar Madison of The Odd Couple, went to a company (Hanger Orthopedics) that sends teams to Haiti to fit victims of the earthquake with prosthetics. I know Bill would have been happy to see it go to such a good cause. Bill would have been happy just to see it go. His wheelchair and other adaptive equipment went to Goodwill Industries.
We have more space in the garage as a result, but it was strangely hard to let go of these things. I found myself tearing up as I handed Felix over. These were objects that had held and supported Bill; now they will hold and support someone else. I know in my heart that moving these things out was a positive thing to do, but still feel the loss as if they weren't just things. They were as much a part of our daily life as was the bed we shared. As much as I had cursed that wheelchair and the bruises it gave me, I so miss seeing him in it that I somehow didn't want to let it go -- as if keeping it around could keep him around a little longer.
How much of the stuff in our lives is there to fill the void of people and events that are long gone? How much of it, like Bill's wheelchair, is taking up space that would be a welcome spot for the people and possibilities coming into our lives if we would only make room for them?