The amateur radios, et al.

This will seem like a long rambling story.

About throwing Mark's shit away.

It is what it is.

Mark was a ham - an amateur radio operator.  He had been interested in it for years, back when CB radios were a thing.  So in the very early 90's he got his ham radio license.  He commandeered the walk-in closets at both houses to make his very own "ham shack" and climbed around in both attics, installing antennas.  He ALSO installed radios in all of his vehicles, with the associated antennas.  He was a member of several emergency response organizations, taught a radio badge for boy scouts, and participated in several City of Austin Emergency Response drills (remember Y2K?).  Recently I came across all of his licenses and certificates and training manuals and books and notes and ID badges and CRAP and seriously, I felt so overwhelmed by it all.  I cleaned out the drawers I had it all stored in.  Then I turned my attention to the actual radios and etc.

I had pulled all of them out of the master closet a couple years ago and put them in the garage.  No more ham shack! Then from the attic I pulled all of the empty boxes they came in.  That's where I stalled.  I was this close to taking them all to the recycle center when Grayson said, lets sell them I'll help you.  But after a month's time, we both realized we were in over our heads, neither of us knowing anything about how to deal with them.  So in a fit of  "ohmyGodIcan'tstandthisanymore", I pushed all of it to one side of the garage while I worked on another project. (as it turns out, purging more stuff from the garage that I don't want)  Then I calmly pulled the recycle bin around to the garage and loaded up all of the manuals and cardboard boxes.  I shoved the radios, and a very old chainsaw and drill, into the back of the truck and made an appointment at the recycle center to drop them all off.

I'm not going to justify/discuss/explain this to my kids for any reason.

I don't care what it all may have been worth - certainly not the price of my sanity.

I always feel a twinge of guilt, then I remember:

Mark is not his stuff.  Mark neither cares about nor needs ham radios in heaven.  Mark would understand the burden that was placed on me.  Mark would want me not to be unhappy in my home and grieve forever.

P.S.  Someday I will tell the story of how we struck a deal involving ham radios with Mark going to the dentist...