Originally written in March 2002 on DaveDorm:

It’s old. It’s beat up. It’s not even cool. But it was my uncle Ron’s briefcase. He died just after Christmas last year. I am slowly coming to terms with his death. They say journaling helps with grief….

Ronny went everywhere with his briefcase. When he was working as a political consultant, there were always ideas scribbled on yellow legal pads, political campaign flyers, cassette tapes for a candidate’s radio spots. He took it to work when he was a counselor for inner city youth at Operation PAR. As a book reviewer for the St. Petersburg Times, Ron would carry his copy to the typist (he never learned to type) or to his editor. Or, if he was working on his novel, was this where the manuscript was carried, too?

It’s just a briefcase. But that black hardshell Samsonite had seen a lot of miles. I identified this briefcase with Ronny, it was his livelihood inside.

I saw this among his possesions. I asked my dad if anyone had spoken for it. He said no, but we would have to go through its contents together before I just took off with it.

I agreed, we set the case on the hood of my car and opened it. Inside were papers for Ronny’s social security benefits, some medical information, and a bunch of newspaper clippings of a political nature.

Deeper inside was a small battered envelope with “photos” written on the outside. There were some jewels. A picture of Ronny with James Brown… the James Brown, the King of Soul. As soon as my dad will release the photo, I’ll get it scanned and posted. He said he would not let that one out of his sight.

I took the briefcase home and cleaned it. I found there is far less room in it than my backpack. But I am going to try carrying it to school, or at least keeping it in use somehow. To have that fragment of his life now a fragment of mine is very special to me.

It’s not just a briefcase.