The Art of Letting Go

I did what I could without having to spend the estimated $1700. I bought a hard drive exactly like the one that started clicking and took it apart, piece by piece. I was gentle as I could be as screws came out, circuitry was revealed... It didn't work out. Years of pictures, some writing, some back ups are all gone with the wind. Ideally, I would have liked to have spent the $1700 to pay for someone to recover my stuff, but it's not like that kind of money comes easy to an "Assistant Story Editor" who, as of today, is unemployed. So I have to learn to let go.
I realize how long I put off even trying to fix the damn drive. I didn't even want to start the mourning process. There was so much on that Maxtor drive that I probably couldn't remember most of it. But some of it, I do remember. Trips home or to visit my sister and her family. Holidays, days at the beach, my first pictures of B. They're gone. And I'm sad, but I not as torn apart as I think I should be. I think I should be devastated but I'm not. I know I should have backed up all my files and I didn't. I brought the situation on myself. I should have known better.
Right now I'm thinking of some of the pictures that are gone. Me with my niece and nephew and sister at Discovery World in Milwaukee. Discovery World was fine, but I remember the grassy area outside the building by the lake. E and H were just running around in the sunlight and smiling. No picture could ever replace me being there and living it. No picture could ever replace B walking up to his apartment in Echo Park with his sunglasses and my shirt on.