Henderson Street

It's not easy being on Williams Street instead of Henderson Street.  I look around my apartment and see all the concrete reminders of people in my life: blankets, pictures, hand-me downs, decor, and memories wrapped up in objects.  There is a story for most everything around me... - one orange chair is a remnant of my JVC year in Denver, and the other is a token of the Columbine house that Jennifer's parents found for her at a garage sale.  Mary has the other one. - the sun, moon, and stars mobile is from Spain from Amy when she studied abroad our junior year of college.  I missed her terribly then.  - a candle bound together with shells found me on the beach outside Vicente Guerrera, Mexico in 2008 when I went on a walk'n'talk with God about where to go next when college was over.  The top half of the candle I found heading South, giving me pause for my considerations of volunteering in Central America.  The bottom half I found heading north, making me wonder if it mattered where I went as much as it mattered how I lived whereever I am.  - a ceramic pot on the window ledge was crafted by my old housemate Erin, now in Renton, Washington. - a black beret that my grandpa wore, that he gave me before he died. I could go on and on...but my mind is really preoccupied with a house on Henderson Street.  A house in which I have spent much time, in which I can visualize where things are "supposed" to be.  But already photos have been stripped from the walls, and favorite things have disappeared.  I wrote to Grandma & Grandpa one time - in college maybe - "where my heart is, there my treasure lies", and I told them that they had a piece of my heart.  That I treasured them.  In truth there is a lot of my heart on Henderson Street, and in this second time of loss, I guess I lose another little piece of my heart.  I don't want to be melodramatic or rash in my actions, but part of me wants to take up residence on Henderson Street and preserve everything as I remember, pretend like I am just a girl again sleeping over at Grandma's house down on the big brass bed.  I know that it is a very emotional desire to be there soaking up their presence in that house.  It is fantastic to think that it will bring me closer to them because really they are already in my heart.  ahh....more tears... And as I continue to grieve, I feel so silly because I still have so much, so many memories, a home on Henderson Street that was my own, family that is still there that loves me and lifts me up as they grieve, too.  What a selfish child to want what I cannot have, to want what I cannot get back!