August 23rd, 2012

July 31st would have been our nineteenth anniversary. I remember it most years, usually in passing, looking up the day’s appointments in my calendar, or writing it across the corner of a check. This year, I knew it on waking. Nineteen years. It seems so much longer ago than all the years before.  John Prine got it right: “Time don’t fly–it bounds and leaps.”

When we separated, I didn’t take much — a few boxes, mainly wedding keepsakes. I had no idea what to do with any of it, so I left it all in a storage shed on my mother’s summer property, thinking I would deal with it someday.

Someday came this summer, when my mother sold her land while the kids and I were visiting. While Mom took the kids down to the beach to play, I swung open the shed door and walked into the tomb of another life.

It was surprisingly, nauseatingly difficult.

I cringed to see myself again at that age, so obsessively, willfully focused on getting my way. So caught up in all the wrong things. Every blue jewelers box was a time capsule of tacky pretension. When I opened one to find a stack of gift tags and cards, I thought I would throw up from shame. How could I have roped so many lovely people into my own personal disaster?

I found the wedding vows I scripted. Did I really include quotes from The Prophet? Of course I did.

I started throwing things into garbage sacks as fast as I could. Anything to get out that shed, and away from that foolish girl I’d been nineteen years ago.

Then I noticed my grandmothers in one of the group photos. They were both alive then, the last time I would ever be with both of them together. There were my parents, divorced by then, but united and jubilant at the center of a circle of lifetime friends. There was my sister, so young and so pretty, in spite of the horrible bridesmaid’s dress I made her wear. There was a haiku a poet friend had written that morning and slipped into my hand. A photo in a heart-shaped frame of a young couple in an undeniably passionate kiss. A small bundle of letters addressed to me that I had forgotten about, and read then, as if for the first time.

There is the story we tell ourselves in order to live, to make sense of our experiences. But there is also the story that gets lost in the telling, no less true.

I couldn’t throw it all away.

I kept back a representative sample of the day in pictures. The cards and letters from my grandmothers. The haiku.

I threw out the scrapbook, the satin souvenir garter, the gift tags, the guestbook, the honeymoon souvenirs and the white leather studio album my ex-husband wanted to burn one night. “Excellent idea,” our marriage therapist said to him, after I tattled, certain of winning sympathy. That marriage was over, he explained. Whether we stayed together or separated, we needed to let it go, and move on. It took years for me to realize what wise advice it was.

I took the wedding vows and the bundle of letters down to the rocky beach on the opposite side of the point from where Mom and the children were, and I burned them as I said a prayer.

Thank you for everything you tried to give. I wish you only happiness and peace.

I meant it as a prayer for him. But maybe it was for her, that foolish girl, too.



13 Responses to “Salvage”

  1. Erika says:

    Lovely and cringey in equal parts. If only because it reminds me of the foolish girl I have been too. Everyone has a shed that needs unpacking and sorting out, I think. It takes courage to blow the dust off things and look at them again, and even more so to share what you see. Thanks for this.

  2. Alexandra says:


    The cringe of who we were.


    I did the exact same thing: I gathered everything up from my first marriage and without even looking it, poring over it, I put it all in one big black trash bad and threw it out.

    Before I had a chance to change my mind.

  3. Alexandra says:

    Yikes: “looking at it” and “big black trash bag.”

    Though bad works, too.


  4. Betsy says:

    So well written. Laughter and tears for me is my favorite.

  5. Janice says:

    Thank you for this. I wept when I read it. Goodbyes are painful – even when they’re for the best. I also burnt some old letters recently and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  6. Sheryl says:

    So poignant. It’s too bad we can’t view the present from the future.

  7. Bev says:

    Such a beautiful post. So meaningful for my own selfish, foolish, naive young girl when I think back on my first marriage.

  8. Amy says:

    Very painful and poignant for a new divorcee such as myself to read. Despite my anger and outrage, I wish that I, too, could tell my ex “Thank you for everything you tried to give. I wish you only happiness and peace.” And, like you, I will, if only from across the universe.

  9. Loved this post and super glad I met you this week! You very well practice what you preach and share it beautifully! I’m hoping to read your book soon!

  10. marilee pittman says:


  11. […] one’s for anyone with memories, or regrets, or dreams. Yes, it’s for you: Kyran Pittman salvages her past. Oh, my […]

  12. Emelie says:

    Facing the past, salvaging the best and moving on. Inspirational.

  13. […] Kyrptonite. That’s where the shame came in. I’ve always been able to bring others into my make believe or my passion du jour. Being married to Patrick has taught me that not every soul changes costume […]

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