Hail hath no fury

Last night after supper I went to my sister's house to unearth two wooden trunks at the back of a storage shed. They're pretty much all we have left of Dad besides our memories, and I had decided that today was the day to brave them. Janet and I moved stuff out of the way to clear a path, and then sat on her back porch and talked, still trying to puzzle out pieces that can never finally make complete sense. The rain was just beginning as I pulled into my own driveway.

Major storms in the night. Crashing thunder, daytime-bright lightning, and even hail. John ended up having to go to another room to sleep, and I found myself with little redheads on either side, snuggling up for mama-comfort. I lay there thinking, "Is that you, Dad? I don't care what you say, I'm going over there anyway. I'm opening up those trunks, and I'm seeing what's inside. I've put it off this long--you can't scare me away." After all, I'm familiar with Dad storming in the night. Yes, there's fear, but I've got my share of bravado, too.

This morning it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed, but I did it. And in the pouring-down rain, I drove back across town to face the trunks.

It was a far cry from my welcome to the History Room at Vineville Baptist Church (Welcome to the History Room), and my visit to the Walter Moore Papers in Special Collections at Mercer University. There, everything was in file folders, neatly labelled, all inventoried and categorized, well lit, with tables for spreading out and a copier nearby. Sanitary. Orderly. Typed. Sane.

Today, for a more realistic experience, I really should have been sorting through papers and books in a dark moldy tent in the woods. But I couldn't have done it. Instead, I spent two hours sitting on the floor of the storage shed with a flashlight, pulling out old books, opening envelopes, deciphering the pencilled notations of a manic tortured soul who wanted desperately to make sense of the world. I could only barely manage, surfacing every few minutes into the light and fresh air to regain my balance and perspective on the world.

What got to me most were the letters I found from my childhood self to her daddy, missing him, loving him, wishing him the best.

Oh, I do hope I have the strength for what lies ahead. Surely it can't be any harder than what I've been through already.

As I pulled out of Janet's driveway this morning, the sun broke through the clouds. I can do this. I can.