The Things We Hold On To

It's really an ugly shirt.  I don't remember it looking ugly when he wore it, but it was the early 90's.  It's a long sleeved polo shirt in blue and purples and it's something I can't get rid of because my dad wore it, probably with a turtleneck.  It stays shoved in the bottom drawer of my dresser, crumpled up like an old receipt in a purse, reminding you to subtract some money from your budget.  Except this is a different reminder; one of love, comfort, and a big tall man.  Sometimes I think maybe it would make a nice little pillow, but then I couldn't see the sleeves and imagine the long arms that used to fill them.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the things we hold on to, whether they be material or not.  Things from times in our lives or loved ones now gone are precious and help us to remember.  That silly shirt of dad's reminds me of the every-day dad that I miss; seeing him stand over the stove cooking dinner, or picking me up for piano lessons where he sat in the car and planned out those dinners (listening to my piano pounding from the car was music enough).  I can picture him sitting on a gym bleacher in that shirt, his lanky arms holding up a long trunk, shoulders close to his big ears, watching his sons play basketball.  His gaze breaking only to clap after points were scored or a play was made.  This is why I hold on to the shirt and keep it in tact.

What will I hold on to of Grandma's?  Photos would normally suffice, but they just remind me of how she hated getting her picture taken (which is funny because Grandpa was a photographer and I hold tightly to his old cameras).  Maybe it will be the glass funnel she used for canning, or the pair of orange high heels, or just the smell of horses.  I'll hold on to all of it, of course, but I predict as life goes by, some will get lost in boxes, break, or get thrown away, and that's ok.  My goofy smile is certainly my dad's, and that can't get lost in the trash.

Some friends recently lost their daughter, an unbelievable and utterly heartbreaking thing to live through.  What could they possibly not want to hold on to?  How do you decide?  I hold on to a memory of a pretty baby girl who was so secure in a room full of strangers, looked exactly like her dad, and was as cheerful as her mom.

I hold on to student art from my time in Korea because it provided beauty and comfort in my teeny weeny apartment when I was lonely and homesick.  I hold on to photos of Rosa because she was so pretty and didn't mind getting her photo taken (and was creative in her poses, apparently).

I wonder what I'll hold on to from this time in my life.  Will it be memories of walks with my dogs in the pasture, the peacefulness interrupted because I have to yell at the dogs to PLEASE  STOP CHASING THE HORSES!  Will it be pieces of hay that I weekly find stuck in my hair?  Will I hold on to the blood (and tear) stained Carhart coveralls in honor of Tugs' battle with a horse hoof in which he survived (but I nearly died from worry)?  Whatever it ends up being, I hope it reminds me of a time that I learned to give myself some grace when I failed (and left the gate open for Boots to escape), a kick in the butt into jumping (into a business, and off a cliff into Sheridan lake), and a high five when I succeed (I made friends!  I can drive the tractor!  I fixed a fence, sort of!)

Two things are for sure, I'll hold on to this man, who is the biggest part of my life here (and let's be honest, why I'm even in South Dakota).  And may I always hold on tight to the promises of God; that we're forever loved and never alone.