Thoughts surface after episode of THE FIRST 48
A few nights ago I was watching an episode of The First 48 on A&E. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, a quick overview. The show chronicles cases from various Homicide Divisions and each episode opens with 2 cases in 2 cities. Through the first 48 hours of a crime it follows the investigation, progress or lack of, of each case. Some scenes may be days, weeks or even months after, should information surface toward resolution and arrest of a suspect. Over the years most cases followed seem to lead to the arrest of a suspect, 'roll credits'. The last few years the standard show format has begun to periodically return to those arrests and the results of any charges.
Of course this gives a sort of 'the end' to some cases. But as anyone who has been victimized knows, it never really ends. Particularly when the crime was a murder. Those who love the victim are themselves victims, as they exist until their deaths having hopefully come to 'terms' with everything. For many though, coming to 'terms' means fear, loss, anger, and grief. Much as those left behind due to Alzheimer's, whether due to the release of a person afflicted or the pain as their existence continues while their minds vanish, in some form we come to 'terms'.
One of the shows detailing the suspects through trials end made me stop and think on the subject of what I have done, am doing and will do with my father's 'stuff'. I had mentioned hoarding before but that isn't really crux of this particular mind-meander. It is the usefulness and care of personal belongings, why we attach ourselves to 'things' and the value we place on them. And 'things' can run the gamut from 'junk' to 'valuable'.
My intent has always been to humor and amuse with all my writing and I've done much sorting and disposing before this blog began. But the process hasn't been 100% humorous. At the beginning there was a lot of unexpected waves of grief that seemed to arrive like a tsunami after an earthquake. And even today, albeit rare, I can still be unexpectedly knocked on my 'ass' simply picking up a tool or a book of my father's. Which is why the father on a THE FIRST 48 was so poignant.
He had lost his son through murder. And finally endured the trial and sentencing of the individual deemed to have committed the murder. At the end of the show he was washing and cleaning a car, speaking of his son~the car~and himself. The car was a wreck. Could it have been repaired and used again? Maybe. I tend to think with enough obstinate hard work most objects can often be made usable again. But this car? The hood was bent straight upward, obviously from impact. The steering wheel was angled toward the passenger seat, windows broken. No doubt the body damage to the entire front end was significant but unseen. The engine? Multiple issues just by looking at the hood stuck straight toward heaven. Certainly inside evidence of the murder of his son from being shot. Plus personal items left in the car.
This man was washing and polishing this heap of a vehicle where his son had ended his life. He spoke while he worked about how this was one of the last things he and his son did together. Detailing this vehicle. It seems the son had recently acquired the car and his father shared his joy by lovingly joining the son in sprucing it up. And every so often he would do just as he was now, keep the car clean and polished.
I saw struck by the depths of grief the man carried for the loss of his only son. I know he was doing this because it was one way he could still feel close and relive the joy they shared. But for myself it also gave me great pain to watch this man caring for this wreck of a car. I understood, but my wish for the man was he would be able to move beyond remembering his son by cleaning and polishing a destroyed vehicle..... a vehicle where his son was murdered.
I reflected on the last 2+ years of my journey, through all the work at this house. Many, including my mother, question why? Why do you want THAT? What are you going to do with THAT? Are you really EVER going to use THAT? Normally I smile and say I like it or want it, I'll use to to fix something, I used it yesterday. And I have used so many things to figure out and fix things. Many are skeptical and I accept that. As time progresses I'll provide chuckles about what I've found and the big hoot HOW MANY X, Y, or Zs of an item I've discovered. And that is 'after' I've thrown many things out.
But sometimes the questions are painful. And sometimes I just want to scream....WHOSE 'FRIGGIN' BUSINESS IS IT 'IF or WHAT' I KEEP. Its my Mothers as she owns everything. But the home is paid for and no one yet has chosen to purchase it. What does it matter if there are 27 hammers that I've put in a box-it doesn't. Has anyone else done any work at cleaning, collecting, organizing, disposing of ANYTHING? Has anyone offered to HELP me as I mow a yard, struggle with a pool, haul furniture or fill a truck with metal which earned my mother $26?
Does anyone care that when I find a saw, wooden handle with a red plastic embossed label with VAN HYNING on it, that I see my Dad using it as I watched? No. No one related or responsible for dealing with this task has done any work, asked if they can help or can see my memories. Some are physically unable and I am fine with that. Some have obligations but when were present to assist, ultimately did little with the overall task. I'm eternally grateful to one who dealt with the packing of my fathers clothing, which at the time I was incapable of managing. Actually all in all I'm grateful to have been left to slog through solo, not having to hear 'why', 'you're doing it wrong', or 'lets just throw it out'.
Like the man, I treasure what keeps me close to my Dad. I believe most of what I have kept is serving a purpose and is needed. And even those things others question.... I know why I keep them and much has even been disposed of since someone first ask the question. There is a time=disposal factor. What I could not touch or consider putting in a trash can 2 years ago......I now can and each time I've gone through items more and more go into the trash. That is the process of grieving and there isn't one hard and fast rule as to how each takes that journey. The only hope is that we continue to keep moving.....at the end of the episode of THE FIRST 48 I found myself wishing for that father.....he could soon stop cleaning and polishing that car.
He had lost his son through murder. And finally endured the trial and sentencing of the individual deemed to have committed the murder. At the end of the show he was washing and cleaning a car, speaking of his son~the car~and himself. The car was a wreck. Could it have been repaired and used again? Maybe. I tend to think with enough obstinate hard work most objects can often be made usable again. But this car? The hood was bent straight upward, obviously from impact. The steering wheel was angled toward the passenger seat, windows broken. No doubt the body damage to the entire front end was significant but unseen. The engine? Multiple issues just by looking at the hood stuck straight toward heaven. Certainly inside evidence of the murder of his son from being shot. Plus personal items left in the car.
This man was washing and polishing this heap of a vehicle where his son had ended his life. He spoke while he worked about how this was one of the last things he and his son did together. Detailing this vehicle. It seems the son had recently acquired the car and his father shared his joy by lovingly joining the son in sprucing it up. And every so often he would do just as he was now, keep the car clean and polished.
I saw struck by the depths of grief the man carried for the loss of his only son. I know he was doing this because it was one way he could still feel close and relive the joy they shared. But for myself it also gave me great pain to watch this man caring for this wreck of a car. I understood, but my wish for the man was he would be able to move beyond remembering his son by cleaning and polishing a destroyed vehicle..... a vehicle where his son was murdered.
I reflected on the last 2+ years of my journey, through all the work at this house. Many, including my mother, question why? Why do you want THAT? What are you going to do with THAT? Are you really EVER going to use THAT? Normally I smile and say I like it or want it, I'll use to to fix something, I used it yesterday. And I have used so many things to figure out and fix things. Many are skeptical and I accept that. As time progresses I'll provide chuckles about what I've found and the big hoot HOW MANY X, Y, or Zs of an item I've discovered. And that is 'after' I've thrown many things out.
But sometimes the questions are painful. And sometimes I just want to scream....WHOSE 'FRIGGIN' BUSINESS IS IT 'IF or WHAT' I KEEP. Its my Mothers as she owns everything. But the home is paid for and no one yet has chosen to purchase it. What does it matter if there are 27 hammers that I've put in a box-it doesn't. Has anyone else done any work at cleaning, collecting, organizing, disposing of ANYTHING? Has anyone offered to HELP me as I mow a yard, struggle with a pool, haul furniture or fill a truck with metal which earned my mother $26?
Does anyone care that when I find a saw, wooden handle with a red plastic embossed label with VAN HYNING on it, that I see my Dad using it as I watched? No. No one related or responsible for dealing with this task has done any work, asked if they can help or can see my memories. Some are physically unable and I am fine with that. Some have obligations but when were present to assist, ultimately did little with the overall task. I'm eternally grateful to one who dealt with the packing of my fathers clothing, which at the time I was incapable of managing. Actually all in all I'm grateful to have been left to slog through solo, not having to hear 'why', 'you're doing it wrong', or 'lets just throw it out'.
Like the man, I treasure what keeps me close to my Dad. I believe most of what I have kept is serving a purpose and is needed. And even those things others question.... I know why I keep them and much has even been disposed of since someone first ask the question. There is a time=disposal factor. What I could not touch or consider putting in a trash can 2 years ago......I now can and each time I've gone through items more and more go into the trash. That is the process of grieving and there isn't one hard and fast rule as to how each takes that journey. The only hope is that we continue to keep moving.....at the end of the episode of THE FIRST 48 I found myself wishing for that father.....he could soon stop cleaning and polishing that car.
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