After my Mom’s death in 2005, my siblings and I were overwhelmed / amused / befuddled / surprised / shocked / grateful by her life’s accumulation of stuff. Excavating through it invoked (waaaay too many) “what was she thinking?!” moments, as well as some heartfelt ones as we discovered items she’d obviously obtained but had never gotten around to giving them to us or the grandchildren she cherished.
Mom was also a quilter, which is a problem because she was “blessed” with raising four giraffe-like daughters on a limited budget in a rural area. She sewed most of our outfits, and saved every scrap for “someday.” We had to deal with those thousands (truly) of small pieces of cloth — many of them went to quilters found via freecycle.org who are undoubtedly saving them for … someday. (Ba ha ha)
My Dad has similar save-the-broken-shoelace tendencies, so I’m hoping he lives forever, or at least longer than I do, so I can avoid that fun (rolls eyes.)
So yes, I come from a looooong line of pack-ratness. And I married one.
I’ve spend many of the recent single-digit-artic-blast days going through more of Tom’s stuff. When you find three (!!) doorbell kits (and mind you, the doorbell here hasn’t worked for years), you have to finally just laugh. What was he thinking?
And all of that got me thinking — what would my kids crack up over if they had to suddenly go through my vast collections of precious treasures? Would they appreciate the headless oriental doll eraser (which is too dried up to erase) that I’ve had since 5th grade? Probably not.
And so, with the same discerning attitude, I plowed through a spare bedroom of my stuff this weekend. The single left mitten that my Mom had almost finished, out of red scratchy wool, for a child with very skinny, very long hands (er, just one hand)? (I think I know why she never finished it.) I actually let it go.
Every receipt for my significant yarn collection? My yarn bin, and now my paper recycle bin, overflowth.
There are many things–of both mine and Tom’s–that are of sentimental value only to us, and, um — one of us isn’t here any longer. Some things I’m not ready to trash or recycle yet, so they’re in marked boxes piled in another spare bedroom.
I don’t need the room–the house is waaaaay too large. But, I need to clear out the stuff. Another widow recently shared that her doing so made her feel “a whole lot lighter.” Coming out of the fudge holidays, I’m ready to do anything to feel a whole lot lighter!
She wrote: “In some ways it has been difficult to change things, to take down his pictures, other things he treasured, that represented his desires and loves, admitting that, while I appreciated his, they were not mine. And I decided to live my life, not to continue his. That was a huge thing for me, as for 50-some years, his possessions had dominated my life.”
I’m going to try and follow her advice of living my own life, not continuing my spouse’s, although I will continue our mutual interests. (More of that in a forthcoming exciting blob.)
This widow’s daughter has been impacted by her Dad’s collection of stuff, and watching her Mom have to deal with it. She shared that she realizes “… marriage involves a lot of compromise(s) and one of those seems to be putting up with the other person’s stuff. And Hubby’s stuff doesn’t necessarily make sense to me (and presumably, vice-versa.)”
That’s one of the hidden blessings of widowhood — you don’t have to put up with the stuff that doesn’t make sense to you!
Meanwhile, assuming my “get rid of it” attitude sticks, my children should thank me now for purging stuff for them (along with birthing them, doing their laundry, sewing eyes back on their stuffed animals, etc.) Kids, you’ll never know the burden of sorting through the box of outgrown, cracked leather, rusted ice skates including the one chewed up by the dog 15 years ago, and the partially used flashbulb collection (you don’t even know what flashbulbs are!), etc.) — so you have no idea what a gift I’ve given you by doing so.
But, having done this for Mom and now for Tom, I know the value of the gift. So kids, send me your gratitude, endless appreciation and love!
Just don’t send me stuff!!
