This afternoon I put flames to the page and watched years and years worth of words slowly burn away. For so long the small green suitcase that used to hold them has felt like a heavy boulder on my back, something that would nag at me from time to time to deal with it but that was pretty manageable back there, where I couldn't see it, only noticing from time to time when I had to move it around. I would move it this way or that, sometimes take a couple out to rip out pages I wanted to save, like what I wrote after my grandmother died, the letter to my dad after he died, a few notable moments or nice sentences that I wanted to revisit, but mostly looking at them would make me hurt and when something makes you hurt in such a big way I feel it's good practice to remove it from your life.
So, at a certain point I stopped looking and a couple days ago while working on the art room I tossed them all into a canvas bag to hold them until they could make it to the fire pit this afternoon. It was a bit bittersweet to see them go, but mostly just sweet as I felt that boulder crumble and knew they wouldn't be hanging around anymore to taunt me or to remind me of the hurt and the confusion. Writing in journals for me is therapy, a way to process my darker times and help to find ways through them. And, just as I wouldn't want to revisit a therapy session over and over again or have them recorded for others to listen in on, I felt much the same about these pages upon pages of writing. Some would argue I should save them so my daughters could learn more about me, and I get that, but not with this, not with these. My daughters will know my stories and hear how we can do hard things, overcome obstacles, not have to let our circumstances define us and on and on, but they don't need to read those, I don't need to read those, nobody on this earth needs to read those. They served their purpose, they got me to where I am, and for that I will always be grateful, but now? Now they have received their viking burial of sorts and I feel so much freer for having sent them on their way.