The Wind Blew and My Heart Broke
He who forms the mountains, creates the wind, and reveals his thoughts to man, he who turns dawn to darkness, and treads the high places of the earth— the LORD God Almighty is his name. - Amos 4:13, The Bible
Was it only a chance breeze that blew this paper of yesterdays memories against the bottom concrete stairs of my apartment building? Was it an unexplainable fluke that I stopped to bend over to pick up and examine this nondescript paper? It had never been my habit to do so, but as I returned home from work on this late sunny afternoon I did stop to scan this fateful paper at my feet.
To my surprise I noted that it was a paper my daughter had received for participating in a folk dance as a primary student. I remembered that day well. She was cute as a button in a sky blue dress with a trim of pink and yellow along the bodice and hem. I remembered her shining face and her broad smile as she deftly careened across the floor with her partner. Those were happier days and with cherished warmth I remembered that particular memory.
How strange that this paper should be outside in front of me now. Was it possible that it had been in the storage room and some other tenant removing items from their storage area had somehow gotten this caught up with their belongings. But this didn’t seem likely because all my belongings were locked in a cubby hole of a storage area and I didn’t recall anything being loose or hanging out of this compartment.
Puzzled I took the paper into my apartment and set it down on the coffee table.
Busy with changing out of my work clothes and getting supper, I didn’t think about this paper again until several hours later. While sitting on my couch, contemplating this mystery, I decided to take the garbage out to the large industrial dumpster utilized by my apartment building. Then, while I was still in my apartment, it suddenly and strangely came to my mind that I should look into the dumpster when I took the garbage out. This thought had come from somewhere outside me and I thought it extremely strange in its compulsion.
Well, I thought, it won’t hurt to take a peek when I’m out there. So off I went down the hall, out the door and down those steps into the dark night air with my make-do garbage bags, small white grocery bags filled to the brim and knotted by the handles. I remember walking across the street lifting up the heavy top of the container and peering into the blackness, as the pungent odor of garbage enter my nostrils. There perched on the top were 2 wooden containers that I recognized right away as belonging to my daughter. They were long thin boxes, about 2 feet long, just wide enough to hold CDs. I had them made especially for her with sunflowers, a favorite motif of hers, painted along the side.
My heart sank. What was this? These didn’t belong in the garbage! As I continued to search, finding other items belonging to my daughter, my heart sank even farther. Many months previous, during the two week period when my daughter had taken my grandson, she had been living with a male friend in the next apartment building. I could only suspect that she had left all this stuff behind and that he had now thrown it out. But this person knew I was here in the next apartment building. We had always been on speaking terms. After my daughter had left his apartment, I had even given him a much-loved dining room table of mine that I had switched for a smaller model. Why didn’t he phoned me to tell me about these items before throwing them out the way he did?
Dragging in some of my finds, I went into the apartment building and knocked on my friend’s door. The wind had been knocked out of my emotional sails and I needed support. I told her about the things I was finding in the garbage. I remember being surprised that she wasn’t able to help me, she was waiting for company, but she did offer me a flashlight and some large garbage bags. Devastated I returned, alone to my quest, flashlight in tow.
Some of the items I found were loose, others were in bags. Wanting to be sure that nothing had been missed, I jumped into the dumpster, lifting the smelly bags one at a time, poking holes in any that hinted at secreting away items other than the regular garbage. Suddenly out of the darkness, my friend’s friends arrived to help, three of them, a man, his wife and his daughter. I really didn’t know them then and I was a bit startled to see them. Not able to discern my daughter’s belongings from the rest of the garbage, they could not do much more than hold the flashlight for me, as I rummaged around in the smelly darkness, or take items, as I handed them out, but I appreciated their presence for its emotional support.
I took out everything from the dumpster that seemed to be connected to my daughter. Amongst the treasures I found were baby photos of my first grandson who had been adopted out, his wrist band from the hospital, and letters from the adoptive parents reporting his progress, as well as photo of my second grandson. I remember finding some of these photos at the very bottom of the dumpster, lifting them out dripping with garbage juice. I was devastated that such sentimentally important items had just been thrown in the garbage. And I was shocked to realize that if I had not found that piece of paper blown up against the steps earlier in the day, and if I had not been mysteriously drawn to look into the dumpster when I had, all these precious memories would have been buried forever in some garbage dump.
After I managed to drag everything I found into my apartment, I was emotionally spent, but I had to tend to as much as I could right away. First, I quickly washed the smelly garbage juice off of whatever I could, running tap water over the effected photos, and laying them out to dry. I sorted through everything, making sure that all the sentimental treasures remained in my apartment. The rest, I bagged or boxed, and I went down to my friend, who was the superintendent to get the keys to put this into the storage room.
I was emotionally exhausted, feeling empty - totally empty - and I remember just staring ahead as I told my friend all the items that I had found and my shock at finding them in the garbage. Then my friend helped me get the bags and boxes into the elevator and as we descended into the basement I pressed against the back of the elevator, and slowly sank to the floor, telling her that I wouldn’t wish this terrible experience on anyone.
The next day, I phoned my daughter’s ex-roommate asking for an explanation. In answer, he told me that my daughter had left all these items behind when she moved out, that, at one point, he had been able to contact, and she had told him she would come and get everything - but then, she never showed up. After that, he left several messages on her phone - but she never responded.
As it turned out, he was moving out that very week-end and he felt he now had no alternative, but to throw everything out. At this response, I did chastise him for not phoning me first, but what was done was done and it was now water under the bridge.
I was shocked that my daughter would have left such precious things behind. Was this evidence of her serious mental state? Did she remember the importance of the items she had left behind or was her mental state so bad that she didn’t remember or didn’t care? I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever know.
Some weeks later, I went with a friend to the local Salvation Army that was located close to my apartment. This was something we seldom did, in fact I have never been back since, and that would be 3 ½ years now. But we decided to go for a lark, for something to do. Imagine my shock when I went into the store and saw a number of my grandson’s baby clothes and even some of her clothes as well.
Amongst the items I found dispersed throughout the racks of the store were a turquoise hand-knit sweater that I had sewn new heart shaped buttons onto and a brand-name long sleeve forest-green t-shirt belonging to my daughter. It was difficult not to feel compelled to go through the store and retrieve and buy all these items. It felt as if parts of my family had been put up for sale in this very public place. But of course it would have made no sense buying these baby clothes because my grandson would have long since outgrown them. How had these items gotten here? Did my daughter’s roommate bring them here when he was clearing out his apartment? I suppose I will never know this either.
But I am grateful for that wind that blew that paper across my path that day. Without it I would never have found or been able to retrieve those precious memories from that dumpster that night. It was an emotionally hard and difficult night, but the salvation of those treasures were worth every ach of my heart.
We enjoy warmth because we have been cold. We appreciate light because we have been in darkness. By the same token, we can experience joy because we have known sadness. - David Weatherford
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