Almost immediately after her passing, I found myself wanting to be free of the mountain of things she had accumulated. There were many clothes that had been purchased but never worn, including a drawer full of delicates, along with other things that were well past their prime but held sentimental value. The sentimental attachment was hers, not mine, but I held on to some of the things that reminded me of her in the hope that someday I can have a quilt made for our sons to carry into their own families (fingers crossed). The rest I donated to a women’s shelter here in Eugene or to St. Vincent de Paul. For all intents and purposes, I am excavating my life from our shared space.

As I went through the items she left behind, I started listening to Enya. Not just a single album, I listened for hours as I worked through the process of letting go of so many of the objects tied to her trauma. Enya has a special place in my heart because we listened to her music during the birth of both of our children, or at least had it playing in the hospital room, and later at home while we cuddled and soothed them. While clearing out some of her belongings may seem like I am abandoning her memory, I am actually doing the exact opposite. I am letting go of the pain and trauma she carried while holding on to the things that have genuine sentimental meaning to me, preserving the purity of her memory rather than the weight of her suffering.

Part of excavating the historical remnants of a marriage is finding the treasure among the debris. I have found jewelry I bought for her, special notes I wrote that she carefully kept in a box, journal entries, two or three pages scattered across nearly ten different beautiful journals she purchased or made – and countless things she sketched, painted, or created. During her last few years, she developed a deep love for arts and crafts, so discovering that trove of supplies has been unexpectedly wonderful. Some of those materials have already found their way into new projects, while others are still waiting for their turn to become something new.

If you’ve ever played Minecraft, you know that if you dig deep enough, you’ll eventually reach bedrock. You can’t dig any farther, at least not in Minecraft, so that’s where the downward journey ends. Stripping away all of the “topsoil” leaves you with a solid, unshakable foundation. This process of excavating the trauma has allowed me to build on my own principles and ideas, hopefully becoming someone who enriches the lives of those around me.

Once you’ve dug a hole deep enough to reach bedrock, you’re left with an empty space that needs to be filled. That’s where I find myself right now. I am a hole that needs to decide what I want to fill it with. Do I simply push all the same dirt back into it, destined to repeat the never-ending cycle of trauma that passed from her mother to her, and then to me? Or do I choose something different, something stronger to surround this new foundation with stability, purpose, and confidence?

Unfortunately, even with all of my life experience, I still make mistakes that unintentionally cause emotional pain to others. I am still learning how to navigate this new path. At the same time, I am trying to stay true to the person I want to become, trying to do the right thing for myself, my family, and the people around me. I won’t give up. I’ll keep trying to get it right, or, at the very least, keep trying to do the right thing.