My friend’s mother passed away recently. She was in her nineties and had a pretty good life. But now my friend is left with a garage full of stuff to sort out. What to donate, what to throw out and what to share with other family members. It’s a tough decision. Different things have different memories attached to them. The last thing you want is an argument over who gets grandma’s Corningware.
When my mom died, my dad was still alive and living in the house we called home for about 30 years. He begrudgingly accepted my offer to help pack up her clothing and other personal items and find a place to donate them. A lot of this had been done prior to her death as she had lived in a nursing home for about five years. There wasn’t much to go through, but it was still a task based in sadness.
When my dad died two years later, the big chore fell on my shoulders. That was to empty the house. My brother and his wife, soon to be ex wife, decided to help me. They took a few things, but a lot of the things in the house ended up in a dumpster simply because the town I grew up in did not have a second-hand store at that time. (Can you believe that?) I still experience guilt over that. A lot of it ended up in my garage. That was gradually sifted through and donated or put to rest.
But. There are still a couple of boxes in the crawlspace and a stuffed wooden cedar chest in the corner of the laundry room. Hey, it was only 24 years ago. Give me a break! I have a vague idea of the contents of the chest. My dad’s Masonic paraphernalia. My mom’s childhood doll. Now that doll must be 100 years old now! Maybe some linens. I know there are a couple of dresses that she wore on special occasions. And then there are photos. Photos, photos and more photos. I don’t know who most of the people are. My mom didn’t know who most of the people were. What are you supposed to do with that type of anonymous history?
I don’t think hiding those remnants of my parents’ lives in a corner is the best way to not only deal with their things, but to honor their lives. It does explain the feelings I often get when I’m in the laundry room. The feeling that someone is with me, that someone is watching me or someone is trying to communicate. Maybe that’s why it has taken me two decades (and possibly more) to go through that chest and release the energy within.
Baby Boomers and Generation Jones are now facing this dilemma. Their parents may be in homes, some are about to go in homes, and some of course, are passing. Although there have been so many times I have missed my mom and dad or longed to share something with them, I’m glad I don’t have to go through their deaths again.
For those who do, it’s important to remember how difficult it is to put their house to rest. It is hard to sort through the lives of your parents, and indirectly of your childhood. There may be things you didn’t know about. There will be many things that hold a memory. There will also be things that don’t appeal to you. You don’t need souvenirs of trips you didn’t take. You don’t need the cracked dishes or tables missing a leg. Release them!
When I go through the chest, and I will get to it eventually, I am going to try to do the following:
- Take pictures
- Call the local museum. Maybe they can display that doll or some of the photos. They have archives. I do not.
- Donate, donate, donate.
- And above all, be kind to yourself and your memories.
Wanderings Art 