“I emptied the backpack,” I said to my husband, Bill, one evening as he walked into the family room.
“Backpack?”
“Yeah, Jeff’s,” I replied. “There. It’s what I guess holds value,” I said, pointing to a tray. On it sat a beat-up old iPad, its cover worn and well-used. There was also a small portable speaker. A hard drive, a knife, a corkscrew, and a Pay Square. All of them dirty, used, dusty, and old.
“Summary of a life,” he said back.
Jeff was my karate instructor. I’ve written about him. I earned a 3rd-degree black belt under his training, and had a fluctuating friendship, with ebbs and flows, highs and lows, as I tell my daughter, relationships often are. His passing last August caught us all by surprise.
His backpack had been sitting in our guest bedroom, along with some other items gathered from his apartment, when we shut it down and closed it up. I hadn’t looked in it. It actually, mistakenly, got a trip to Atlanta when some visiting family members grabbed it thinking it was theirs. They returned it on Thanksgiving. And it sat on the chair in front of my front door, until a few days ago when I opened it.
At first, I thought, what if I find something in here that’s really of value? Some money. He sold CBD oil, a traveling vendor, mostly dealing in cash. What would I do with it? It’s been nearly three months since we laid him to rest.
I often ponder what will be found when an event occurs requiring us to search for something that belonged to someone else. Maybe out of necessity, curiosity, or when they no longer need it. A cell phone. The drawers where they worked, or slept, or sat. The little pieces of paper that stick out from books or files. Half-filled notepads full of scribbles. Thoughts. Notes. Bible Verses. I do have some money tucked away in random places—a habit I picked up from my mother, who I often see swiping and poking away at her phone. I imagine the day I look at it, I’ll see hundreds of colored pictures from her coloring app. Bible verses, for sure, and probably a lot of unintentional screenshots.
The random things we collect in the most random places often reveal our unique selves. Hints to the hidden quirks that make us who we are and show what we like or are drawn to. I have a million cloud pictures in my phone. Dog pictures. Beach pictures. Bill. Alex. Mom. Family. Friends. Summaries of my life. Clouds are heaven to me. The dogs are my security blankets, the beach is my escape, Bill and Alex are everything good in me, and Mom is me.
Jeff’s items defined him. He was a worker. His income was in that iPad. His personality was in that knife; he was a hunter and fighter, literally and figuratively. It was part of the outfit with his jeans and boots. The corkscrew, I guess, was the all-in-one tool that every guy like Jeff would have. The speaker and PaySquare were part of the traveling salesman gig, and one day, I’ll plug in the hard drive and see what it reveals.
Very few items, conjuring up images of someone lost, keeping them tethered to me, capturing the essence of who I knew for over 30+ years. In their dust, memories linger, stirring only the good ones, because when someone leaves, the best of them typically rises, and the ebbs and lows slip away.
Some day, someone will open up my backpack, or packs, and find in whatever form — dusty and worn, or password-protected — items no longer needed where I pray to be. Kinda like Jeff.
I thank my God in all my remembrance of you
Philippians 1:3 (ESV)
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Have a great week. Be kind. Look for those who are kind. Together, stay kind. We’ll be back next Wednesday with our weekly morning ponderings.
Wow, Kim! Beautifully expressed.