I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was an icy, foggy Spokane morning. I had been expecting a package from Rob containing my winter coat and some other things. The doorbell rang and I opened the door to the UPS man. He said simply hi, packages for Dyer and I signed the signature scanner.
I shivered in the cold while he unloaded five large boxes with a handcart. What the hell...?? I thought. "They're very heavy" he warned, and he set them on the asphalt driveway next to the garage door. When he left I stood there freezing and contemplated the stack of boxes as tall as me. A sadder moment has never existed I thought wearily. I pictured him searching our home for any and all items of mine he could rid himself of, box up and ship to me. Suddenly one box caught my attention, and I was struck by a sickening realization that nearly dropped me right to my knees.
Stacked second from the bottom was a u-haul box marked by sharpie with the words fragile and kitchen staples in my own hand. It was the very box I had so lovingly packed with kitchen items we would use at our extended stay hotel after our move from Utah to Olympia. I had carefully chosen which spices and seasonings, utensils, and pantry goods we would use at our home-away-from-home, and packed them into a box. The rest of the kitchen--and house--would be left for the moving company after we purchased a home in Olympia.
I found it sickening --and disturbing-- that Rob found and used the very same box to ship my belongings after kicking me out of our Olympia home; my heart broke while I stared at the words I had so excitingly written eighteen months earlier.
Today the box sits out in mom and dad's driveway. Twice I've started to destroy the thing but I can't seem to do it. I have no idea why but I just cannot get rid of it. Not yet. Don't know what I'm waiting for, when I do this will be the first place to which I turn.
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