My mom saved nearly every toy and book that my brothers & I ever had when we were growing up. We had the luxury of having plenty of space to store stuff like that, as well as the luxury of having a mother patient and sentimental enough to box everything up "for sometime down the road." We recently started hauling boxes out of those nooks and crannies, and began sorting through their contents, deciding what we're ready to part with, and what merits keeping.
I don't think words can fully capture the scope of what's out there. The stuff I'm pulling out of these boxes should be dead to me - I haven't touched some of this stuff in over two decades - but the minute I lay eyes on it, I'm six years old again, and remember this dragon? I got that when I was in the hospital getting my tonsils taken out, I can't give that away. And oh my god, there's a box full of ninja turtles, and a heap of Little Golden Books, and then I spot my Babysitter's Club books and I'm an incredibly awkward eleven year-old again, and oh, I can't get rid of those, I just can't. I'm not ready.
I've been trying to start writing this for a few weeks, but I'm having a hard time figuring out how exactly to get it out, how to articulate it all. Every time I think I've got a handle on it, I'll unearth something new out in the garage and suddenly, my mind's flooded with a whole new set of words and ideas and feelings it wants to get down before they evaporate, and before I open up another box and a new tsunami of memories comes roaring in.
It's funny and bittersweet and wonderful and exhausting.
And it's pure happenstance that we started this project right before Toy Story 3 came out, but still, given my current state of mind and the fact that I don't think I've ever gotten through the following clip from Toy Story 2 without crying, I'm preparing myself to go in and have my heart broken into a million little pieces.