Pack Up Your Troubles
I am by no means a hoarder, but if I were to die tomorrow, there is a lot of stuff that my kids will have to deal with (i.e. throw away).
Not talking about bundles of newspapers dated back to nineteen-seventy-two stacked in my living room. No, I’m talking about books I’ve dragged with me through the decades. Even have a box full of my Dad’s books that I inherited after he died. I have a hard time throwing away books (or even giving them away).
Also, there are dozens upon dozens of birthday, Christmas, Father’s Day cards scattered throughout several boxes of my belongings.
Plus, cards and letters from past relationships going as far back as high school, that I saved over the years.
There is a desk and bookcase that was from my childhood bedroom (Ethan Allen). Also, furniture, way more than I need, scattered throughout the house in some rooms that I don’t even use anymore.
But by far, the hardest thing for me to toss in the dumpster, is my writings.
I’ve been writing since I was a kid. Before high school, I had a mustard yellow, Smith-Corona typewriter my mom gave me. On that machine, I wrote Twilight Zone-type short stories and other tales of fiction.
As I grew up, I typed (and even hand-wrote) books, poems, and plays. Arguably, they weren’t any good, but I kept them.
Now they reside in several containers in my basement. I simply cannot throw them away.
But I knew, someday, someone had to.
Today I made a decision, that someone was going to be me (sort of).
But it wasn’t going to be just the writing, it was going to be everything.
The furniture was going first, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
There is a tool called a Sawzall that will literally cut through anything. I put that to a test, and it passed with flying colors.
I dismembered a couch, two dressers, three bedroom end tables, three wooden chairs, and three (three!) metal bed frames.
Then bundled the body parts into contractor trash bags, secured with copious amount of duct table, and carried them out (at night) to the dumpster.
The at night was just to make it seem more True Crime-ish.
The childhood desk and bookcase has remained unscathed (I just didn’t have the heart).
At least for now.
Before I went through what to save and what to get rid of, I bought a half-dozen plastic containers. I figured, what ever I saved I could stack in the basement until the time came when someone (other than me) would either save or throw away.
Next were all the cards, letters, and drawings I’ve received over the years. The easy part was if they were from my kids, they stayed, and there were plenty.
I quickly filled one container with hand-written cards and nick-knacks drawn and created by my kids when they were young.
The hard part was throwing away birthday and holiday cards I received from friends. It had to be done. I feel like most people throw them away at an appropriate time after the event, not sure why I felt compelled to keep them.
Maybe I should have been more like my ex-wife when it came to cards. Once, when we were married, I gave her a Valentine’s Day card, she read it, thanked me, then tossed it right into the garbage.
Guess it was her own version of from table-to-farm.
The next challenge was the personal letters and cards from girlfriends over the years. I simply could not throw them away, (on some I could still smell the perfume). There was no way I could toss them in the garbage.
Once I am gone (dead), I’m sure my kids would not have a problem doing just that.
But I had to make an assurance.
I took all the letters, cards, photos, anything connected to a relationship, and put them in a large manila envelope. Next, I duct taped that envelope like a mummy about to be placed in a tomb. On a small patch of still visible envelope I wrote: ‘Do Not Open – Please Throw Away’.
Then, to make sure they knew Dad will always watching, before I sealed the envelope I put another note inside in case they opened it: ‘I thought I told you not to open this’.
Not done yet, but had a good start.
Side note: In the middle of doing this I found out it actually has a name. I am not dying, but the act of decluttering your life, removing items before your relatives have to after you die, is called ‘Swedish Death Cleaning’ (also known as döstädning).
Who knew I spoke Swedish?
I still have books to sort, and furniture to disembowel, and even clothes to sort through. It will take me a while, but it will get done.
It’s like the old saying goes, ‘How do you eat an elephant?’
Answer?
‘One bite at a time...’
