The past calls to me, but it is like the siren’s call; deadly. It urges me to hold on go things. The objects which in turn sing my name; yet these items straddles me with their weight. They threaten to limit my future: emotional, physically and financially.

This past weekend, I ventured into the confines of the storage unit I have shared with my parents for nearly a decade.  The size has fluctuated; sadly at one point there were two units. The siren’s call was too much for both myself and my mother to resist. So we held on and on…

Then, the financial burden began to wear on us and the voice of a new siren called us to clean.  (Thank you, Clean House) Momma and I went through the units over a weekend and downsized enough to fit everything into one smaller unit.  It wasn’t difficult at the time.  I organized and took items to goodwill across the street. Momma wisely took over going through my paternal aunt’s pictures; sifting through them and weeding out those that  I had no connection with.

Judith Rose never married, although she was courted by more than one man. I look a lot like her and have a picture in my classroom; watching over me. She is sitting at a desk; posed to look like she was working.  Judith was an imperfect being who had many faults, but she taught me to value the past.

We never discussed her maiden aunt status or it’s effect on her social life.  It wasn’t my place as her niece. She lived next to her parents her entire adult life, well, actually above them. Her home was on the side of the mountain that over looked my grandparent’s home.  She spent a lifetime collecting and learning; as a lover of history you can imagine my horror at seeing her precious collection given away.  Everything I could fit was packed into the car that I inherited from her.

Upon my graduation from college, the things that I managed to save were moved from one unit in Virginia to another one in Florida. There wasn’t a place for them for a long time. Eventually, I rented two rooms in a house from a friend.

Suddenly, there were places for things to go; yet the storage unit was still half full. Things with that roommate didn’t work out and I rented an apartment of my own.  It was a studio which resulted the storage  nearly full.  The next move filled it.

We could barely set foot in the door; after two weekends and about eight hours of work you can step inside easily and even move around.  Momma and Stew, my boyfriend, were there as I went through boxes.  Stew lifting and hauling.  Momma trading the look with encouragement.  The two of them acted as a safety line; ensuring that I didn’t become overwhelmed or hurt myself by lifting something I shouldn’t.

Surrounded by love, it was easier to let go. Easier to say goodbye to the past when my future was standing with me.

This weekend, I am tackling my home off so that I can have a place to be craft.   A place to create and model my future.