Written by: Emily Robinson
Memories… Isn’t that what scrap booking is about? I cannot be dishonest with the pages anymore. So many beautiful, memorable times caught in those photographs; then cropped to fit into my gold leafed photo album.
My marriage to Bill… My child’s first steps… The church picnic I went to with so many wonderful friends three summers ago…pictures from when my daughter when to her high school prom, and then a few pages later her college graduation, and then her wedding…
Yes it was a memorable wedding. And so was mine.
If only the moths hadn’t destroyed my wedding dress while it was in storage. I would have still had it to cherish. I would admire its intricate beadwork and lace. I would sniff it and probably still smell the perfume that I wore. And maybe, if I managed to lose the weight, I would be able to wear if for our wedding anniversary. Yes… that would have been something. I look back and regrets fill my mind. If only I had thought to put mothballs in with the dress; when I first stored it. I wish so badly that I could have saved it. It hardly seems logical, but for some reason, I keep thinking that if I had been able to save the dress, I could have saved my marriage.
My Marriage: Twenty eight years and then everything’s gone. The love, the hope, and the future Bill and I had together have dissipated. The divorce went fairly smoothly. There were loads of paper to sign; little talking. But without my husband’s income, and then having to live on my own, it has been hard to make ends meet. It was not long before I had to sell my wedding ring at a pawn shop…then I had the means to pay the bills for April and May… But since then… it has been more difficult than ever.
I look at my scrapbook sitting on the shelf and I start to cry. This is supposed to be a hobby that middle aged women do. An opportunity to show off your handiwork to all of your lady friends while having them over for coffee… But for me, the scrapbook has become a curse. Its pages will never fade with the acid free paper, the acid free glue, and the premium glossy finish acid free photographs. I feel like getting rid of the object, but burning it doesn’t seem right. Those are my memories in that book, and it is my life. If I dispose of the book it would be like I am disposing all of what my life is made up of. The important events…the cherished ones…
If I did not cherish those times so much I would not be in so much pain now. I guess the real pain is wanting to have what I used to have returned to me. But wait... how could I possibly want that? It was all phony anyway.
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