Our Camino – Arriving in Santiago – April 6, 2013

Posted on June 13, 2014 by curibe2014

Santiago here we come.

The excitement of arriving in Santiago that day got us up early. We stuffed and strapped on our packs quicker than usual, getting on the road well before 9 am. The steady downpour that had characterized our walk since the start was replaced by a clear sky, the sun smiling upon us as we prodded along. Pilgrims who once chattered along incessantly, grew silent, uttering the “Buen Camino” greeting only when absolutely necessary. We were carried along by a cool breeze that rustled the trees softly making it sound as though they were applauding. We covered a full 10 km in two hours, we were no longer walking but running. At that pace we’d be in Santiago in two more hours.

Just outside of the city, we reached an imposing monument that mirrored the enormity of the journey, while we might have only been walking for five days, some had been walking for almost forty, others even longer. From our vantage point we could just make out the tops of the Cathedral’s spires in the distance, they were waving at us to hurry.

For once John Brierly was right, walking on paved roads is much more tiring than walking on dirt even when that dirt is sludge, and those last five kilometers exhausted us more than the one hundred five kilometers that preceded them. Our feet grew heavier with each step and we thought seriously about by-passing the grand entry to the Cathedral for the comfort of our hotel bed, but just then, the spires re-appeared from behind the buildings, encouraging us to keep going. When we finally emerged onto the plaza, we just stood there, incapable of thinking, talking, or even crying alternating between staring at the church, each other and even our feet. Had we really just walked here?

We were still standing there, when a small group of french girls (more women) led by their teacher came up to us looking for an interview. “Were we pilgrims?” They asked, practicing their English. We said “Yes”. “Can we interview you?” they continued. We hesitated, wondering what we’d say looking at each other. We mumbled, “yes”. First question, “Why are you walking?” Since landing in Madrid, despite the number of people we’d met and chatted with along the road or over dinner, not once had we mentioned why we were walking. We took great pains to wait until others passed before attaching our Gus crosses or leaving our Gus prayer cards. We did not want to cause others pain or illicit any kind of pity. We were survivors, lucky to have had Gus, to be in Spain and have each other. There were other pilgrims in the plaza, yet the group of students had made a bee line for us, in that moment it was clear that “these” people were not asking the question for themselves but asking the question for God himself. So we answered God, saying “We walked for Gus”, while handing over a Gus cross and prayer card, no further explanation necessary.

Our feet no longer hurt or we forgot they hurt, so we continued on to the Pilgrim Office to request our Compostela. We presented our passport, filled with more than the necessary amount of stamps and were questioned. “What was the purpose of your Camino, cultural, historic, or spiritual?” Spiritual we answered in unison. Before leaving the Pilgrim Office with our Compostela in hand, we left a rock in a basket hung for that purpose over the stairs, it read Wito, Nana and GUS.

Next stop the “End of the World”.

A cool sunny day along the Camino.

The Church is just a little further now.

We made it! – Cathedral Santiago de Compostela

Pilgrims Passport

One of our Compostelas

Our Love Rock at the Pilgrim’s Office

Our Camino – Arzua to Rua – April 5, 2013

Posted on June 12, 2014 by curibe2014

Everywhere I look – Mothers and Sons

The walk from Arzua to Rua was 20Km, just one kilometer more than what JB advised in his guidebook but we cursed him anyway. A kilometer IS a kilometer. The distances between our stops have shortened from the original 25 kilometers to only between 15 or 20 now, but it feels the same or our pace has slowed. Perhaps we just don’t really want to get there. Either way the last 5 kilometers reduced us to petulant children, repeating every few steps, “are we there yet?”

We joined up with a large group of pilgrims and then collectively cursed JB as we all practically barged into a random Spaniard’s home having taking a wrong turn along the road. To be fair, it was not JB’s fault, we all just missed the marker clearly visible below the cold beer sign (HELLOOO) but he seemed like a reasonable target for our exhaustion. We came across memorials for fallen pilgrims along the route or for those in whose name someone else was walking. We left Gus’ prayer card or his cross in their care as often as we could.

The teenagers we’d seen yesterday was even more impressive today as we met up with them only to discover that the group had only ever consisted of six women and the three young men in wheelchairs. Their chaperone told me that the men we’d seen with them the day before had materialized then like every other time they were in most need of upper body strength, to carry the wheelchair across a swollen creek or to help push them up a particularly steep hill especially because one of the wheels had broken. So it was our turn to help them for a while. We’d just happened to catch up with them at the foot of another steep hill.

We practiced being cute, holding hands and taking our picture while we walked down the hill (it only took five tries). Santiago is just another 20km away!

Holding Hands

Along the Camino

Adding Gus to a shrine

A Gus cross at another shrine

Remembering a fellow pilgrim

Our Camino – Melide to Arzua – April 4, 2013

Image

The walk from Melide to Arzua was “short” considering the number of kilometers we’d been logging per day. It was only 15 km or 9.3 miles, but it was up and down hills most of the way. The challenge was not just physical but emotional. We had taken it easy that morning, savoring the thick and foamy hot chocolate and crunchy churros as though they were our last meal. We’d left at 10 am, in good spirits, eager to finish the day’s walk.

To get the “Compostela” (the official document acknowledging our walk), when we arrived in Santiago now just two days away, we’d have to prove that we’d walked at least 100 kilometers by getting at least two stamps per day at hotels, cafes or other official stops along the way. Paul had turned this minimum requirement into a maximum challenge stopping at every opportunity to get a stamp. The first opportunity that day presented itself almost immediately.

There was a poster along the fence with pictures of one man’s journey from Santiago Chile to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The feat was impressive enough until you realized that the man had only one leg and that had he’d pedaled or walked for nearly a year. I was translating the captions when we noticed that the man in the pictures was standing behind us and that he had a stamp, he was an official stop along the Camino. He explained to us that he walked the world for charity, a campaign of “smiles” he called it and that is when the tears began. Gus’ prayer card says “Smile, I am fine” because that is what he always told us when we lost our composure in his presence. We asked how we could help and he informed us that all he asked for was 5 Euros for charity. We gave him 10, a Gus prayer card and a Gus cross. We all cried and finally left.

Further along, still wiping the tears from our eyes, we came to a little Church where the priest stood by all day just to stamp pilgrim passports. He asked us if we were married, we said yes. He inquired about the number of “tesoros”, treasures (children), I reflexively said three then corrected myself to two. He looked at us as though we could not count so we had to tell him that it was that we’d just lost one to cancer. We gave him a prayer card that he tacked onto the wall. We left sobbing some more.

As we were getting closer to Arzua, we took break at a cafe as much to rest our hearts as our feet and of course to get another stamp, when a large group of teenagers passed by pushing three wheelchairs, the young men strapped in clearly afflicted by cerebral palsy. The young men were covered with plastic bags and ponchos, the rest of the group was muddy and wet, you could tell they’d had to carry their friends over the rocks and mud that characterized the road that day. I cried some more, thinking that while we mourned our loss, we’d been privileged to witness such courage and strength. We arrived in Arzua more exhausted than ever before, our hearts bursting with pain and love.

Campaign of Smiles

The church along the way.

The courage and strength of teenagers.

Gus rock – we miss you.

Our Camino – Palas de Rei to Melide – April 3, 2013

Posted on May 28, 2014 by curibe2014

Leaving Palas de Rei

It was supposed to be a short walk from Palas de Rei to Melide, only 15 km, a welcomed break from our 20 – 25 km daily average. Alas that was not to be and for that we blame John Brierly, author of A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino: St. Jean – Roncesvalles – Santiago, the guide-book we read each night in preparation for the road ahead. That day, the “guide-book” suggested a “quick” side tour to Castillo Pambre, a well-preserved 14th century castle just a few kilometers off of the Camino.

As a former boy scout, my husband prides himself on his navigating/map-reading skills and so although he never seems to be able to remember how to get from our house to the mall, when on vacation I let him navigate – all part of my need for adventure. For reasons I should really not elaborate on other to say he was distracted by mother nature not so much calling as it was persistently yelling, we missed the critical turn to the castle road. The book however, showed a second road we could take and my husband assured me (after a quick stop in the woods) that it would only add “a little” more to our walk assuming of course the road was where it was supposed to be – it wasn’t. After walking back and forth along the same road for a while, while cursing at John Brierly’s lack of appropriate mapping, my husband decided to use his phone’s GPS to locate us and the road. Finally through the miracle of modern technology we found that we were standing right next to it.

This is the road to the castle?

Having spent more than two hours looking for this road, a little mud was not going to deter us from our mission and so we pressed on relying now on our GPS and not JB’s (what we came to call John Brierly) map. The GPS said take the muddy road – so we did. The GPS said to go up through the trees – so we did. The GPS said take the road long forgotten by man – so we did. The GPS said it would be right in front of us in the next hundred yards and it was – ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER!

Looks like no one has been on this road in a while – are you sure?

A view from the BACK SIDE of the Castle. We are probably the first to see it from that side – EVER.

Back on the Camino (4.5 hours later), like a sign from our Gus that he’d enjoyed our shenanigans and was beckoning us to take a break, the very first house we came across was called the “Casa de Agosto” – (August’s House) and conveniently attached to the local “taberna” (pub). We took Gus’ advise, taking a break from our walk to visit the local church where Jesus appeared to be reaching down to hold us and lit a candle for our boy. We then kicked up our feet and indulged in a beer (or two) before continuing on.

Gus nod along the Camino

Jesus reaching down

A candle for our baby.

When we finally arrived in Melide, 10 hours and 26 kilometers later, having traversed through mud, trees and beautiful little medieval hamlets in the off and on rain, we were greeted by some of the nicest people at our surprisingly modern hotel. After pointing us in the direction of a delicious pilgrim’s meal consisting of more octopus, potatoes and wine, the managers of the hotel promised that the next day’s breakfast would consist of a steaming cup of hot chocolate and the best churros we ever tasted. They were right. Thank you St. James!

Our Camino – Hola desde Palas de Rei – April 1, 2013

Posted on May 8, 2014 by curibe2014

San Juan Church Portomarin

It turned out that St. James forgot about our request for good weather and about mid-way along our seventeen mile trek, the heavens opened up on us enough that we had to stop several times to the let the worst of it pass. Even attaching Gus crosses proved to be a challenge as the wind swirled in all directions making Paul believe that he’d eventually wind up like War Horse – all tangled in barbed wire. The good news is that there was less mud and cow dung because most we took the route along the highway instead of through the rain-soaked forest. The bad news is that we could have lost our lives if any of those speeding trucks had hit us while their drivers were busy texting. We did make an interesting observation. We seem to be walking with more women than men. Women walking in large groups ahead of us, women walking in small groups behind us, women walking alone next to us. The few men we’ve seen so far seem to be walking with their wives. We walked behind a couple for a few miles that held hands the entire way – our hands were too busy with our poles and holding hands requires that you walk in step not a few paces ahead or behind each other like we do. When we finally arrived in Palas de Rei, we rewarded ourselves with a fine meal, pulpo (octopus) sautéed in olive oil and topped with sea salt, a tray of fine Galician meats and cheese, sangria for me, beer for Paul and the most delicious cheese flan ever.

Shelter from the rain.

War Horse potential.

Cute couple holding hands.

Pulpo estilo Feria!

Sangria and beer for a walk well done.

Our Camino – Sarria to Portomarin – March 31, 2013

Posted on May 8, 2014 by curibe2014

Following other pilgrims on the Camino

Good Morning from Portomarin. We hit the road in Sarria early yesterday with lots of other pilgrims. While they continued on, we stopped at a little church along the way. It was quarter to eight and the church was practically deserted except for another couple of pilgrims and a handful of elderly locals. We were about to leave, thinking we’d arrived too late for the early mass or too early for the later mass, when a little red Peugeot raced around the corner pulling up across the street. The priest jumped out fully robbed urging everyone to hurry behind him as though he had something more important to do than saying Easter Mass. But perhaps it was just that he wanted to start on time and he knew he had to give his bell-ringer, a hunched over man in his mid to late eighties time to shuffle from his seat at the front of the church to the back to the ring the bell and to the front again before he could start. With the bell dutifully rung, he took a breath and finally looked around the room. He seemed thrilled to discover that with the addition of the four pilgrims his audience had swelled to a full ten people and proceeded to give a funny and inspiring sermon. Filled with new hope (at least I was since I understood the sermon and my translations for Paul were choppy and very behind), we started on the road. For the next seven hours we went up and down hills, up and down stairs, trudged through mud, sludge and cow droppings, while trying to make sure we did not miss the yellow arrows or scalloped shells that pointed us along the path. It was as beautiful as it was tiring. This morning however we are refreshed and ready to go. As we sit here having our breakfast of toast and cheese, what started off as a rain is dissolving into a beautiful bright blue day. We read somewhere that when things go your way – in this case we’d asked for decent weather – it is by intervention of St. James. So thank you St. James. We will walk another 17 miles today. See you on the other side.

Along the Camino from Sarria to Portomarin

Rocks are left at the kilometer posts, we will leave a Gus rock and cross

Pilgrims leave rocks at the kilometer signs. We left a rock with Gus’ name and hung a cross.

Portomarin is just across that bridge!

Our Camino 2013 – March 28th – 30th

Posted on April 22, 2014 by curibe2014

Gus was in “remission” Easter of 2012. We celebrated the promise of that “new beginning” with an Easter egg hunt that had the kids solving mathematical clues and riddles to get to the big prize, a money filled golden egg. We took pictures of our three boys as usual, Gus there in the middle of his two much taller brothers, all smiles. I took a tentative breath and thanked God for another miracle. This time the miracle would not give us eight more years but just a few more months. Soon he complained of leg pain again. Soon he was back in chemo. Soon he was gone.

We planned to start “Our Camino” on Easter of 2013 not only because we could not bear to be home but because we were in-fact starting anew. Not all beginnings are happy and bright we’ve since discovered but they are beginnings nevertheless. A beginning we chose to greet with a saddened smile but a smile still in his honor . The following is a chronicle of our journey last year as originally posted privately to our closest family and friends (minus the grammatical and spelling errors). I hope it helps someone.

WE ARE WALKING – March 28, 2013

In just a few hours we will embark on “Our Camino”. We are likely over packed and under-prepared but excited and anxious. Why walk? After the year we’ve had why not just sit on a remote tropical island beach, staring off into the horizon sipping on fruity drinks? Because we can’t. In one of his first sermons after being elected Pope Francis said “Walking, our life is a journey and when we stop there is something wrong”. So we will walk. We will walk to try to move away from the pain of so much loss and towards the promise of our reunion. We will walk to honor the physical challenges that Gus endured without complaint or bitterness. We will walk to know that moving forward does not mean leaving him behind. We will walk because if we stop, we may never get up again. How appropriate that our “Camino” begins Easter Sunday.

Gus & His Nana – Both lost to us in June of 2012

Gus & his Great-Grandfather Juan who followed him to heaven in February of 2013.

WAITING TO WALK – March 30, 2013

Funny thing to say “waiting to walk” but we are. After almost twenty-five hours of planes and trains we arrived in Sarria (pronounced “sorry-uh”) early – very early Saturday morning. The train station, a smallish building that kind of looked like a house, was encased in fog just like in the movies. We were surprised to discover we’d been traveling with a number of other “pilgrims” who immediately took off on their journey. For a second we were a little embarrassed that our backpacks were inside the two enormous bags we dragged while they carried nothing more than their backpacks and that we were headed straight for our hotel while they hit the road after the long journey from Madrid. However, a quick whiff of myself got me over that bit of humiliation only to be replaced by the even bigger humiliation of just how loud two rolling bags can be over cobble stone streets. We are happy to report however that we do not appear to have awoken anyone (at least no one yelled at us) and that we were immediately given our room despite arriving far too early for check-in (no doubt they got a whiff of us too). We were able to take a nap, shower and eat before heading out to look around town and purchase our pilgrim shells. We will commence walking tomorrow because we intend to start walking refreshed and looking good!

Planning “The Way”

Posted on April 16, 2014 by curibe2014

Months before we sat across from each other picking out urns and niches, my husband and I sat next to each other convinced that we’d dodged another bullet. We’d just returned from San Francisco from a second round of radiating Gus’ entire body benignly called the “MIGB treatment”. It was not a painful procedure, just incredibly boring and uncomfortable for all of us. After receiving a high dose of radiation, Gus spent his time trapped behind a lead wall, while just outside his room, we sat on a padded chair that was provided and an office chair we stole, shoved into the corner of a small area between two patient rooms and the emergency exit. Gus’ bore his time with his usual good humor, chatting with his friends through his plastic covered i-pad and although we could get up and go at any time, we strapped ourselves into the chairs in solidarity. It might have only been ten days that we lived like this but when the time finally came to go, we pealed out of the parking lot as though we were breaking out of prison. Before we’d left, the doctor had filled our tank with hope. He’d announced that the “lights” (tumors appear on scans as lights) that once filled his body as though they were stars in the night sky had all gone out. Comforted by total darkness, we sped home towards a healthy future.

At home, we played what Gus wanted to play, watched what Gus wanted to watch and when we weren’t doing that – slept. On a rare Sunday that was not interrupted by cancer center check ups, we did what we used to do on Sundays, stayed home in our PJs and had a “lazy day”. Gus tired himself out that day trying to “prestige” on Call of Duty and went to bed early. For the first time in months my husband and I sat down to watch a movie of our choosing. We chose “The Way” with Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez, a movie I’d picked but had not had a chance to watch. We almost turned it off immediately when in the opening scene the son, played by Emilio, dies sending his father, Martin, off to Spain to pick up his body, but we stuck with it because there was something alluring about all that walking. As a semi-practicing Catholic, I’d heard of the Marion sites like Lourdes and Fatima and seen the pilgrims arrive on their knees at the Basilica of Guadalupe in Mexico City, but I’d never heard of a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela and when the movie was over, my husband and I promised each other that when the boys were gone we’d go on this pilgrimage ourselves. I wonder sometimes if we’d not said that out loud if the future would have unfolded differently because what we didn’t know then was that Gus would leave us on different Sunday. As it was six months later, with Gus’ passing and the older boys on their own – our boys were gone…

We began flirting with the idea of doing the Camino again. It was just a thought at first that took root and seemed to be confirmed that the universe was pushing us to do it by everyone we met. We met a man who would be doing it on bike in October and another who said he had a friend who’d done it and others who were thinking about it themselves. By December of 2012 we’d decided to walk the Camino for Gus starting Easter of 2013. I should mention now that Gus was not our only loss that year. On June 14, 2012 just ten days before our Gus, his grandmother Robyn Deppe would leave us a victim of lung cancer and seven months later my grandfather would join them after a long bout with Alzheimer’s. Walking became a necessity.

If we were going to walk 135 miles in ten days from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela and then on to Finisterre we would need the right gear and lots of practice. We went to REI for backpacks, shoes and clothes. We practiced walking first up and down small hills, then on and around hiking trails and finally on two consecutive days just to get the feel for it. We took Gus’ prayer cards with us and left them everywhere we could. For Christmas that year, my brother-in-law made us little crosses with Gus’ name for us to leave on our trails and my sister gave us a pack with the words “Live for Gus” stitched in yellow. When we boarded the plane on March 28th last year bound for Spain, we wondered if we could do it. Could we actually walk thirteen miles a day over ten days? Over the next couple of weeks I will reprint the blog that was originally published just for family and friends. It is hard to believe that twelve months have passed since we walked the Camino.

Gus at Will Rogers State Park

Gus at Temescal Canyon

Gus at Cobb Estate

Gus at Runyon Canyon

Live For Gus Bag

Gus Crosses

Spinning away.

Posted on April 8, 2014 by curibe2014

Here I am waiting for my hour-long spin class. The class is not normally held outside but that day it was and I am not sure why. The class is already brutal with us alternating between standing and sitting while pedaling fast or slow to the beat of the music, so having it outside in front of everyone on that particularly hot afternoon was humiliating torture. Having finished with “the Great Purge” (or rather stopped by my family when they found me dragging the couch out) and with nothing else to do at the “sad” hours (the hours I should still be with Gus) I spin away.

I took up spinning when Gus was in the first grade but not with this kind of rigor (at least four times a week currently). By then, I’d gained a lot (I mean a lot) of weight. It had crept on slowly, almost imperceptibly in a conspiracy with my mirror and aided by my over-self esteem. “I am tall and wear my weight well” – I told myself. The truth was that I was fat. There were reasons for this – legitimate ones – completely understandable. First among them, was that my legs really hurt when I exercised. I’d been a basketball player in high school and even then when I was at my thinnest my legs hurt – actually burned – when I ran, walked or even bicycled. The doctors had no explanation other than suggesting that I drink more water and then later – to lose weight (it is kind of difficult to exercise when your legs seize up). Then there was the stress of having two kids while still in college (architecture school no less) followed by the stress of buying a fixer-upper house. When Gus was born, the older boys were twelve and ten, at the height of their million activities and I had no time. I liked to sleep between working full-time, the kids’ sports activities, fixing the fixer-upper house AND a new baby. The added “baby weight” settled in nicely – everywhere. Then Gus got sick the first time and I ate nothing but fast food for the entire year he was in treatment. I ballooned into a 287 pound fatty.

By the time Gus was in kindergarten, I no longer thought I could look good. I just accepted my “curves”. Then little Gus would sit with me when I combed my hair, read to him, watched TV or made dinner for the family and staring into my face say “Mom you are so beautiful”. Then, turning to his brothers who were in high school and never so much as looked at me, added “just look at her face! Isn’t she beautiful?” One day he added to the “Mom, you are so beautiful”, a “but maybe you could get smaller” with his little hands gesturing that my circumference could shrink. Knowing full well what he meant I responded “Gus. You want me to get shorter? I can’t. I am tall.” He’d walked away shaking his head.

There is an odd kind of vanity in sharing that my son thought I was beautiful. Sort of pathetic. Didn’t her husband think she was beautiful? Didn’t he tell her? Don’t all kids think their mothers are beautiful? I suppose so, but until Gus, my other sons had never considered what I looked like – or if they did they’d kept it to themselves. And while my husband often told me he still found me beautiful, I was fat and therefore I thought he was just being polite or in need of something. Sex? Unconditional love? Trying to get out of trouble? But Gus already had my devotion and if anyone should have ignored me it was him. He who had already been through so much should be the last person concerned with my looks or health – he should be singularly focused on himself and his needs. He was the baby, the one that had been so sick, the one we all doted on. But Gus was not like that – he was always very aware of others.

I resolved to be the person Gus saw and do exactly what he wanted – “get smaller”. I eliminated the pain in my legs with NAET (Nambudripad’s Allergy Elimination Techniques – look it up it works) and acupuncture. I started walking and then I discovered spin. That first day on the bike, rubbed raw you know where, my legs felt rubbery and I could barely make it back down the stairs but I was hooked. Cycling indoors to music? How can it get any better? Over the next two years I lost fifty pounds. But then Gus got sick again and I gained some of it back (almost twenty pounds).

I don’t think anyone would have blamed me if I’d gained all the weight back and then some. I’d lost my precious baby boy. But then one day, as I wondered what more to discard, I remembered Gus sweet face. The sweet face of the little boy who thought I could be better. The glowing face of the slightly older boy who’d lost his final battle with cancer but was no quitter. He’d endured his treatments with a smile, constantly comforting me – “Mom, don’t cry I’m fine”. So I got back on that bike. I’ve lost the sixty pounds so far – with another thirty to go. Gus’ mom is no quitter either.

Me & Gus just before he got sick the first time.

Me & Gus’ after his first bout with cancer.

Me & Gus – after I discovered spin.

Me and Gus during his second battle.

Me now – sixty pounds lighter.

See Gus – Mommy IS smaller!

The Great Purge

Posted on March 31, 2014 by curibe2014

Two weeks after the worst day in my life, I went back to work. That first day I hid in my cubicle for eight hours holding back tears, pushing papers from one side of the desk to the other and tried to remember what I did for a living. I found myself staring at the clock dreading for “three” to roll around. With our older boys in their twenties and Gus gone, it would be the first time in twenty years that I would not have to rush out to pick up a child from school, race to a practice or a play date, do homework, or in Gus’ case dash from doctor’s appointment to doctor’s appointment. I stayed until four that day and then went home hoping I’d let enough time pass. I hadn’t. With nothing better to do I ambled around the house impatient and sad. At the corner of the family room was Gus’ bookshelf still crammed with his school supplies, books and toys. I decided it would make a great place for a permanent memorial. Right there in the corner of where we ate and watched tv so that he was still in our midst.

I began by clearing off the shelves and collecting anything that Gus had ever used, slightly touched or even glanced at. I planned to organize it all and put it in his room which is kept closed and nearly like he left it – probably until I die. Since keeping all of his pencils, crayons or games would be ridiculous, I resolved to keep only the “special” ones -the ones he used the most. As I sunk deeper into my task I came across boxes of other things that with him gone we’d no longer need. The assortment of paints for the pinewood derby cars (apparently we’d bought more and more of them each year), boxes and boxes of crayons, paint brushes, coloring books, bottles of glue and stacks of long-forgotten games. As I tossed or boxed the many items that I thought were Gus’, I realized that many more were mine. Soon, I was organizing not just his shelves, but the immediately adjacent closet, then the cabinet across the room, the pantry next to it, the laundry room, the linen closet, the other linen closet, the outdoor tent, the garden shed and finally the two holiday decoration sheds. And so the great purge began.

I blame William-Sonoma for convincing me that I absolutely needed that express rice cooker I was always too afraid to use and a multitude of “specialized” kitchen gadgets like a mandolin (I might have used that thing once). I blame Pottery Barn for the collections of nick-knacks appropriately “grouped” and displayed throughout the house and for filling my linen closet with “seasonal” sheets and comforters. I blame Martha Stewart for the all the ridiculous “matching” holiday collections and decorations like the “mummy in a web” for Halloween and the Santa Clauses, Easter rabbits and wreaths that contributed to that special “a Holiday just threw up all over the house look”. I mostly blame myself for believing that I ever needed any of it to heighten our family experience. That my perfect family was somehow more complete in a expertly staged photo-ready setting. Over the year I made at least ten trips to the local shelter with the car filled to the brim (trunk, back seats and passenger seat) with neatly arranged boxes of the useless and irrelevant stuff that once crammed rooms, got piled on shelves and clogged up closets. At one point I was even asked if I was moving. At the time I blushed and muttered that it was a long story. The truth is though that I am moving – from the perfect family Gus era to the nearly perfect family “after” Gus era.

In this new era, it is not the setting that will take center stage but the memory of the experiences we had and the ones we are yet to have. The less “stuff” I have, the more room I make to bask in the glory of our family love (Gus’s love) and the love of the people that are still in our future. I expect the great purge to continue.