About a third of my books
A suitcase full of pictures
My Christmas tree ornaments
Almost all of my CDs
Almost all of my DVDs
My leather jacket from high school
Those are among the things I left behind me. The day I left, I had exactly two hours and one truck -- and I took only what I knew I couldn't live without.
My favorite books
My grandmother's cream pitcher
The coffee cup my father gave me
These are the things I took with me on that first desperate afternoon. Thrown into boxes, bags, laundry baskets, with hectic fervor. Going through the house selecting, grabbing, running to the truck, then back for another load. Working against the clock, knowing that I had to get out before he got back. Knowing I probably couldn't come back for the rest.
My Ninetendo DS
Most of my photo albums
The microwave my father bought me
These are the things that I'll never see again, probably long ago consigned to the pawn shop or the Dumpster.
My wedding dress
My ceramic doubeck
My Virgin Mary statue
My handfasting cords, sliced in four
These are the things I found tossed like trash into the bottom of boxes when I went back to get the rest of my things. The day when my belongings were stacked haphazard onto the porch, when most of them were not given back to me. The day I decided I had to let the rest of them go, because I knew his dictating when I could come, and what I could and could not have, was just another step in the dance of control.
These are the things I tell people I took with me.
These are the things I tell people about when they lament that I started over from nothing. I tell them I had everything I needed. All that I would ever need.
My one, amazing precious life