Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Clean-up and Peyton Story #5

As I said in my previous post, I spent ALL DAY Saturday cleaning up our extra bedroom.  The computer and the treadmill are in there and it had become a catch all for all kinds of stuff. 

I had been a little emotional on the days leading up to this cleaning frenzy and as I was going through things, I found several reminders of Peyton (not that I need to be reminded, he’s usually at the forefront of my mind).  I have put off cleaning this room because it meant going through a lot of papers.  I knew there would be evidence of Peyton throughout the room.  I didn’t want to face it.  I didn’t want to clean it, let alone acknowledge the feelings of loss I was experiencing…….again.

I found this drawing. 

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I told the story behind it in this post.

I found his first savings account book.  This comes with a Peyton story.  He was 5 years old.  I took him to the bank to open up his account.  The “new accounts” lady was asking all the required questions, name, address, etc.  She kept directing the questions to me, but Peyton would answer them.  Finally, she turned to him and asked, “Where do you work?”  Peyton said, “Down at the creek with my dad.”  We had lived on our property for about a year and there was still a lot of land to be cleared.  Peyton spent hours down at the creek piling up brush with Tom.  In his mind and heart, he did “work” down at the creek with his dad.  Remembering this story did make me smile. 

I also cleaned some more stuff out of his room too.  I found some baseball hats and put them in the trash.  I got them out of the trash and took pictures of them.

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I couldn’t stand not having them.  Our family spent so many hours at the baseball fields. 

I’m still working on rearranging some things.  I am starting to use Peyton’s closet as storage for some Christmas stuff. 

My mind is cluttered too.  I can’t put the memories in boxes or photo albums and tuck them neatly away in my brain.  His face and even his voice, pop into my thoughts constantly.  I want to enjoy the memories, but I’ve been having a hard time doing this. 

I am turning to God’s word.  It is my lifeline.  It is truth.  It is love.  I will come out on the other side victorious and I can’t wait to tell you about it when I get there.

 

4 comments:

Cortney Parker said...

I love your stories! Big hugs to you!! My parents spent many summers down at the softball fields too! I have a whole box full of uniforms, hats, and batting gloves. I couldn't part with any of it. They are such a reminder of the good times I have with my dad when he coaching me around the bases! I think I will keep them forever! lol!!

chippy said...

Becky,
My heart hurts for your heart as you walk this path daily. Thank you for sharing your memories of Peyton with us... they make me smile. I especially liked his where do you work answer. :)
Keep doing what you are doing... remembering... walking... going to God... trusting. I am reminded of Martha after Lazarus died... her words to Christ (my paraphrase:)... 'This is not what I was expecting, I thought it would be different... But Even Now... I know that you God can do amazing things. You can still work wonders in this life of mine. I believe. Even now. I believe.'
You remind me of Martha... and I can't wait to hear your story. Keep telling it!

Kelley said...

I know that had to be a difficult thing to do, cleaning and sorting through papers. I loved hearing the story about him working at the creek. Kids that age have the best stories. I love his picture of the fish. That made my heart smile.

MarshaMarshaMarsha said...

forever 16. i understand exactly what you mean.

okay, that story about working with his dad down by the creek makes my heart melt! how proud tom must've been of that. :)

it is hard to see a team separated... focus on the eternal, not this temporary separation. God will help you through every step! and i'll be here crying with you and rooting you on too.

you are doing well, my friend. even if you don't feel like it, you are bringing glory to God. you bless me.