I Stood Guard at the Dumpster

On Sunday and Monday, I basically stood guard at the dumpster as best I could.  Boxes loaded with moldy junk came at me one after the other in rapid succession.  I feel a bit like a fool, but I really don't care.  I try to be reasonable, I really do.  After all we don't want this clear-out and clean-up to go on indefinitely.  Bob urged me onward - he's known me a long time and I am fighting him as he is loosing his temper, while my nephew-in-law, gentle Jason, was oh so patient.  But I just have to look quickly through this stuff for those things that hold the life and breath and heart and soul of my parents and, for that matter, my entire family.    It is physically and emotional exhausting.  I lament that we didn't do this clean out in a more leisurely manner while my father was alive.  But he couldn't stand to do it, he really couldn't and we, his children, didn't want to cause him pain.  Once in the past year, I secretly cleaned out his refrigerator and he was so upset with me that I felt like I drove an arrow through his heart.  So we let the junk grow up around him until after he died.
Was standing guard at the dumpster and experiencing the conflict worth it?  You're damn straight it was! (Are you aloud to use the word, "damn" in a blog?)  I need to be dramatic because I feel I have once again found gifts that - to me at least - are priceless.  I found two get well cards I wrote to my father in May and June of 1956 as he lay in bed for 6 weeks after having a coronary occlusion (aka a heart attack - the recommended treatment was very different back in 1956 and laying in bed barely moving was part of the treatment plan). My sister Meg was not quite two years old but she scribbled her message to Daddy at the bottom of mine. And I found a handwritten autobiography that my father wrote on August 13, 1935 when he was 19 years old.  It was amazing to read Charles Fries'  description of himself before he became my Dad.  I absolutely loved it and I promise I will share it with you soon but it is three  and a quarter pages long and it is getting late.
My get well note is a lot shorter so maybe I'll include it tonight before I go to bed.
"                                                                        June 10, 1956
Dear Daddy,
         How are you feeling? I hope much better.
          Next Sunday is Father's Day. Mom Ma - Ma says we can try to get in to see you.  Maybe even Peggie can come in.
           Uncle Nick says that when you are well enough to come to his house we can roast hot-dogs and hamburgers on his new grill.  I hope I spelled hamburgers right.
          Marty is writing a letter to, but Ma-Ma is helping him a little.  He can't write much by himself.
          After I write to you I'm sending a get-well card to Alfred R. the boy that Ma-Ma told you about he is in NY Memorial Hospital.  This is his eight oberation (I meant to say eighth operation but I never could spell - thank God they invented spell check). And he is oln only in the 8A. ( I made an awful lot of grammatical errors also but my intentions were good).
           My sister (meaning the Nun at school) and my class pray for you every day.
           When are you coming home. We are getting a father's Day pre present.  A nice thing to.
            Meggie (did I mention we had a lot of different names for my sister, Margaret Mary?) has a piece of paper and wants to write you a letter to you to.
            I let Meg write on this paper.
                              Love Mary B
From Meggie  ( with an arrow pointing to a bit of scribble in pencil at the bottom of my letter which is written in pen.) 
CAN YOU BELIEVE I COULDN'T EVEN SPELL DADDY????