No Good Can Come From it

Kara's photo albums and journals were among the items that, while damaged by smoke and water, surprisingly survived the fire. I painstakingly went through the photo albums to salvage any recoverable images. The journals, however, were turned over to her family unopened.

I also knew her passwords for everything—Instagram, Facebook, email, and Netflix, of course. I even have the iPhone she had before upgrading it not long before her passing. And I have stayed away from and out of it all as if any one of them could be carrying the plague.

I’m already very aware of exactly how she felt about everything that truly matters. When it comes to us, I’ve long known what I need. Besides, and I’m not talking out of school here, she talked shit about absolutely everybody and everything. Nothing and no one was immune to her occasional ire, whether laced with humor or bile.

And I’m quite sure that yours truly has been the subject of a tirade or two that centered around my non-proficient bathroom cleaning and assuredly worse. But the airing of grievances about romantic partners is not an uncommon trait, and far from exclusive to her. Hell, I know I’ve made frustrated utterances about Kara to my inner circle that might have moistened her winged eyeliner were she to have ever heard them. And I’m a goddamn sunhat who loved her more than anything in the world.

Potentially hurtful words or notions that were either unintended or never meant to be uncovered, are only magnified and made worse by the absence or passing of their curator. That is something for which we should provide some grace. But I have purposefully chosen to avoid the need to employ such grace.

I’m convinced that when it comes to the things that were never meant for my eyes or ears, nothing will be made better in my heart by knowing them. I know how much she loved me and what I meant to her, and vice versa. I sleep well with that, and there’s no need to unearth an offhanded comment that might put a lump in my pillow.

In fact, I would posit that not only can nothing be made better by diving into private thoughts and conversations, no matter how trivial, or god forbid worldshaking, things can only be made worse by such discoveries. Maybe even catastrophically so.

I know that’s all easy for me to say, as someone who doesn’t need additional closure or have any remaining unanswered questions. I’m well aware that there’s some nuance and wiggle room when it comes to need-to-knows.

But if you find yourself in my shoes, and there’s nothing that absolutely needs to be revealed or put to rest, I would highly encourage you to leave that shit alone. Because lumpy pillows don’t just put a kink in your neck, they can leave an unnecessary hole in your heart.