Hey everyone, I rarely do this, but I need to share something that’s been weighing on me—something I only just discovered. This is not just a confession; it’s a path to understanding a part of myself that was hidden for too long.
Last weekend, I was going through a box of old things from my childhood. It’s funny how we forget the little details of our past, isn’t it? Among the faded baseball cards and dusty high school trophies, I found a small, worn toy soldier. Its paint was chipped, and its once vibrant green hue had dulled over the years. As soon as I touched it, a flood of memories surged back—memories of my grandfather.
Grandpa was my world when I was a kid. He had a way of making everything seem magical. Every weekend, he would take me to the park, and we’d have these grand battles with my toy soldiers, creating epic narratives with our imaginations. It was our special thing, a bond that felt unbreakable.
But after he passed away, I stopped playing with those soldiers. The pain of his absence was too much to bear, so I shoved everything into a box and buried it deep in my closet. I guess I thought out of sight, out of mind, right?
Seeing that toy soldier again, I felt a quiet pang in my chest—almost like a whisper from the past, something I hadn’t been willing to hear until now. I sat on the floor of my room, cradling the soldier, and the truth hit me. I realized how much I’d closed myself off since losing him. I built walls around my heart, trying to prevent the hurt from seeping in, but in doing so, I also blocked out a lot of love and joy.
I remember a conversation we had just a few days before he died. Grandpa was sitting in his favorite chair, the afternoon sunlight casting a warm glow on his face. He looked at me with those kind eyes of his and said, “Life’s a series of battles, kiddo. But the important thing is not to forget the love between the lines.” At that moment, it didn’t make much sense to me, but now it echoes in my mind with such clarity.
It’s taken me a long time, but I understand now. I’ve been fighting the wrong battles—focusing on suppressing pain instead of cherishing love. I let fear of loss eclipse the joy of what we shared. This toy soldier, it’s a piece of my heart, a reminder of the love that crafted my childhood.
I ended up spending the entire afternoon just reminiscing. I wrote down stories of our adventures, laughter, and even the way he would chuckle at his own jokes. As I wrote, I felt lighter, as if each word was lifting some of that long-held weight. I realized that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means holding onto the love while easing the pain.
So here I am, sharing this with all of you. Not because I expect anything in return, but because I hope it helps someone else understand that healing is possible. That it’s okay to revisit old wounds, because, sometimes, they hold the key to moving forward.
Thank you for listening. I feel like I’ve found a piece of myself I didn’t know I’d lost.