Memories Given Away

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of my Mother’s passing.

I’ve been absent from the radio airwaves and blog scene owing to an overdue trip down to Washington to clean out the storage room of all my parents belongings.

It’s done.

My sister Claire and I spent an emotionally charged couple of days opening boxes and essentially dividing all of our folks earthly belongings into one of four categories: yours, mine, Goodwill and the dump.

This is a scene that is played out tens of thousands of times each year. The accumulation of a lifetime makes its way to a new destination. If you haven’t gone through it yet, you will.

When our mother suffered a massive stroke years ago, my sister and I were thrust into a hyperactive mode of focusing on the care that both Mom and Dad immediately needed. My father had Parkinson’ Disease, meaning that Mom’s stroke instantly demanded full time nursing care for both. It was a “two for one” of the worst sort.

It also meant selling their condo immediately—and rapidly packing and storing the furniture, the kitchen ware, the clothes, knick-knacks----virtually EVERYTHING they owned. Little regard for organization as time was of the essence.

Wise people who had been down this road before advised us to IMMEDIATELY sell or give away all of their possessions—warning us that if we stored the stuff, it would be there forever. While Claire and I suspected this was true, we just couldn’t bring ourselves to divest our parents of everything they owned while they were still alive. So store it we did—for five years.

With nursing care costing approximately $12,000 a MONTH, we knew that it wouldn’t be long before the entire proceeds from the sale of their home would be eaten away. That, their life’s savings and anything else of value would have to be sacrificed in order to provide them the care they needed and deserved.

Dad passed away in 2007—and with Mom gone now a year, we finally came to grips with the task of saying goodbye to much of the trappings that framed our collective childhoods.

The dining room set---neither of us could take it, so we gave it away. Never the greatest in quality furniture, it was nonetheless the scene of every single major meal we ever enjoyed as a family. The Thanksgiving turkey was carved on it, every Christmas dinner served on it—and countless birthdays, anniversaries and special occasions were celebrated around it. Storage was not kind to this family furniture heirloom—and although the Salvation Army accepted it, I wouldn’t be surprised if its next stop is the landfill.

For Claire and I, that sentiment was a recurring theme. If neither of us could accept a certain item, we would delude ourselves with the notion that it would go to a “good home” where it would be used and appreciated if not loved. Who knows how much of our parents stuff would be thrown away? Neither of us wanted to know.

What I did bring home was an amalgam of different pieces. The plastic spire from our family Christmas trees. Yes, it is gaudy, but dammit, that cheap plastic spike was OUR family tradition. Glassware, bric-a-brac, household items that were not valuable, just sentimental made their way back to Maine. My father’s personal effects from his service in the Army during WWII. Piles of photos, awards, framed pictures and other memorabilia. None of this could I throw away—and so it was packed in the van to head north. I jokingly told my sister that unless a good divorce lawyer was riding in the passenger seat, I might not get any of these items actually in the house, but Peggy was exceedingly understanding and accommodating, although I couldn’t help but notice a raised eyebrow or two at some of the “treasure” I was bringing home.

It was notable that my sister and I never vied for the same items. I was delighted with everything she took, knowing that it would be in her family and not either in a thrift shop or at the dump. She too, was thrilled when I would rescue something from the giveaway pile.

We had a few poignant moments, but fewer tears than we expected and many, many laughs as we unearthed things that we hadn’t seen in years.

If this process has taught me anything, it’s that I should start the task of thinning out MY stuff before it becomes a burden to my kids.

They are just THINGS after all.
Things that unlock precious memories, but things nevertheless.

If you’d like my blog in your box daily, just let me know: tim.moore@citcomm.com