When I had the idea to start my blog series, {Midlife Schmidlife}, it was because I was being reminded of the funny and absurd ways that I was aging. From my eye sight that seemed to be changing daily to the peach fuzz that is now sprouting on my chin and upper lip. Someday neither of these seem very funny to me but there are days when I am laughing at myself in a “Really??” kind of a way.

I was hoping to bring some of that humor and fun to today’s blog post but I’m not feeling it. At the very same time, I’m realizing that I don’t want to write about what has been on my heart. But if there is any benefits to being almost 50 years old, it’s that I’ve learned that often when I don’t want to do something, it’s the exact thing that I should do.

It seems that since my blog series has started, I have found myself in a pretty damn melancholy mood. For one, it’s raining today with a forecast of it sticking around all week. Living in Texas, we need the rain but I’m a sunshine person. Days like this make me want to hide under the covers with a good book and snuggle with Ernie, my grand-dog, who trembles when the thunder rolls through.

Second, I had a pretty intense weekend of sorting through pre-digital photographs. There were memories of me with a swelling belly and a growing heart, family vacations, little boys with chili-bowl haircuts, first steps and first bike rides. Envelope after envelope I was reminded of happy times that zoomed by as well as unfinished plans of elaborate scrapbooks.

With the house to myself this past week, this was how I spent both my Friday and Saturday evenings: Pandora streaming my favorite sappy love songs, a nice glass of wine, a box of Kleenex and a determination to finish Part One of this undertaking.

This project has been looming like the storm clouds outside. Rumbling with the pull for me to have this started, let alone completed. But I’ve also known this was a project for me to do when the house was empty and my husband was away. Second marriages come with enough added extra baggage and I want to be respectful to him. He deserves that respect and I deserve to not shelter my own emotions as I looked at 20 year old pictures of babies who I swaddled and sang too.

My goal is to have the photos scanned and to finally put together pages for my sons’ scrapbooks. I want them to remember the good times and a time when their father and I shared a last name. It’s been over 11 years since the divorce but I owe my sons those memories and not have them selfishly stuffed in envelopes…many with missing dates or names attached. Most of all, I want them to always remember how much they were and still are loved

Friday and Saturday were intense. I cried those nights. No, I take that back, I sobbed.

Maybe it was seeing my boys so young and remembering that time of life like it was yesterday. Maybe it was seeing a happy young couple with so many dreams and love or one another. Maybe it was photos in the later years of our marriage where the smiles don’t quite reach the eyes and the body language had completely shifted.

It was a perfect storm for a weekend of melancholy reflection.

The mood still hangs today but I have no regrets. I sat with feelings that I’d long forgotten and now I can see stacks of labeled and banded photos like I had hoped. The emotions and the work were worth it.

Just now, the rain has subsided to a sprinkle and I can see the line of clouds beginning to clear. I can smile knowing my husband is coming home this evening and I’m ready.

I may had tripped and fallen down memory lane but healing is happening and sunshine will come very soon.