Book

Herself speaks.

My mother asked me to clean out my lovely Daddy's files. And so I did. It was not a difficult task, but it was challenging.  I had limited time, and a lot of mental processing to do.  

There were some items I was not sure about keeping -- do I need the paperwork for the sale of the condominium a few years ago?  Let's keep that a little longer, just in case. And there were other items I knew needed to stay a while longer -- keep all tax records for a minimum of seven years, Daddy always said!  The travel documents can definitely be shredded, as he's made his last journey. Funeral bill has been paid, that can be disposed of. All done. I wish I had time to go visit his grave. 

There were other things that I wasn't at all sure about.  Credit card statements: well, I only keep mine for a year myself, and I've shut down many of the cards, so I can probably shred those.  The file of business cards and names and addresses of colleagues and such: I'll put that in my backpack and take it home, in case I ever need to reach any of those people.  Plus, it had little scraps, such as the Post-it note where he first wrote Offspring the First's cell phone number, and the tiny tug at the heart was enough to want to keep that, for now. A folder for me and for each of my siblings, with various bits and pieces of useful information -- I'll put that in my backpack too, to sort later. One more trip through the airport with my deceased father's papers in my backpack, like the nuclear football. 

One item I found, that I struggled with most: a book, in the back of a file drawer: The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich - A History of Nazi Germany. It clearly was a gift (not a book he would buy for himself), something he felt compelled to save, but could not bring himself to have out in the open with the rest of his books. A thick tome with small print. I put it in my backpack when my mother was out of the room, because it seemed like a complicated find in his files, and I did not want to discuss it. It was hidden for a reason. 

I know that it is extremely important that humanity remember how the events leading to and surrounding World War Two, Nazi Germany, and the Holocaust came to be. We need always be cognizant of the ability and willingness of people to do horrific things to other people. We need to remember, to make sure these things do not happen again. 

At the same time, the idea of even holding such a book was repellent to me. The amount of horror, destruction, fear and loss associated with the words in the book was nearly audible. What should I do with the book? What could I do? To destroy a book is a crime. Yet to keep a book like that felt like having a Holocaust-era book bound in human skin. Could I give it to someone? Leave it somewhere for someone to pick up and take home? Donate it? That would involve being in contact with it until I could find a suitable place for it. It would feel like a visible stain on my hands, to even carry it around. 

Decision made: when I got back to my hotel, I threw it away. 

I feel that I have sinned in destroying a book, but I could not bear to have it exist near me any more. 

I hope I made the right choice, Daddy. I am doing the best I can for you, and your papers, and your things.

I miss you, and your wisdom. 

Poisonous.