Paper

My Father passed away about a year and half ago. Yesterday I began shredding the paper aspect of his life. Paper that traces and is now one of the only records of his existence. I have thought that I can make up a big story about all this, become a victim and create lots of meaning here. Instead I just think it is funny how in his life those pieces of paper were so important. A cheque he wrote me in 96, a Mastercard statement, receipts for Shayla’s karate. In death they lose all the meaning they had and become trivial, unimportant. It becomes a large green bag of shredded paper that will be recycled into something else. Maybe more paper for another soul to create a record of their life. I was shredding it to make space, get rid of things I do not need. Maybe I will stop now and read everything this record of his life. The things he spent his money on the things he felt were important to keep. Or perhaps they were just things he kept with no importance attached to them. Still, they have become the paper record of his life and aside from pictures and some home movies it is all that remains.