Words

Everyday I take a few minutes to sort through Colby's "stuff." Lately I concentrate on books, notebooks, scraps of paper and I begin to find pieces of song lyrics, poems, sentences that he had written. Colby had dysgraphia, which is difficulty in writing, spelling, forming letters. Yet he still wrote. Some. Many of the words I have found so far are angry, frustrated. But he made valid points in these writings of his. As I come across them I pile his words in stacks, then file them in a safe place. Someday, maybe, I will compile them into an ebook. He felt strongly about these words. Had hoped to use many of them in his songs. I believe it was his intent to eventually share his words with the world and even though he is no longer physically here with us, I want to help him do that.

It is sad, going through his things. Many items bring back good memories, but others remind me of all he left undone, of all he had to offer, of the bright promise of his spirit, of a life gone far too soon. If he were here to guide me, I wonder, what would he do with each of these things? What would he throw away? What would he want me to keep? Which items would he want each friend to have? I sort, I pile, I read, I think. What I am unsure of I put in a corner to revisit later. That pile is the largest. Colby was a pack rat. There is a lot of stuff. A few minutes a day, every day. Eventually I will get there.