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Inherited Badassery
The meaning behind hidden objects
My family has a way of not dealing with death. They stop talking about the person as if they just vanished into thin air. One day they are here; one day, they are not. Stories and memories are obsolete, things of the past that are selfishly packed away in the deep crevices of the cortex.
I have spent so much time at my Grandmother’s house, but there were no pictures or talk of my deceased Grandfather. She wrapped all of his things and memories in old want ads and past headlines. Tucked them safely to rest in old shoeboxes hidden in the darkness of closets throughout her house. Never was he mentioned again.
It is interesting what happens as a person is dying. All these years, the accumulated items hiding in bins, boxes, and hidden places finally creep out into the daylight. Things that were never discussed are spotlighted in conversations about the artifacts being shown.
I have learned so much over the last few months. The one person I never met since he passed away before my first breath in this world has been the key to my questions. Long ago, I surrendered to the notion they would never be answered. Yet, they start flooding my mind while looking at the dusted-off artifacts laid before me. My dad sat wondering which of these treasures would be passed to me to be their…
