Grief work
She kept everything.
“There are more boxes in the top of the extra bedroom closet.”
“I’ve been through all the drawers, but these three.”
“These are boxes of photos that have been looked through. Those three over there are the only ones left.”
“Mom/dad used to tell stories about . . . ” Looking at the photo, “That must be who this is.”
“Dad sent mom a lot of cards.”
“She kept everything.”
“The basement is next.”
We are taking baby steps in a grief process. It feels neck deep. Waves of grief can only be surfed. You have to learn how to ride those waves even when you’ve read the books and think you are prepared. I don’t think your religious commitments matter. Yes, mixed images, but it is the only way to express the experience. There is nothing in the marriage or relationship handbook about how to be the companion.
Professionals advise to make four lists.
- To Family
- To Sell
- To Donate
- To Trash
Deep in drawers. In the back or top of closets. In boxes that haven’t been opened in years. In cedar chests. All these contain tales maybe never spoken to family. Hand written journals or notes that offer a glimpse into the person we never showed anyone. The secrets we keep for ourselves that become questions for the bereaved family or friends cleaning up and cleaning out when it is time to sell a house or apartment. There are “should we” or “do we” moments about keeping things that took a lifetime to gather, were saved, and who can know why?
The cast of the musical, “Rent,” asks many times during the show, “How do you measure a year in a life?” There are philosophical and theological answers for that question. Those can be frightful, fraught-filled, and faith-filled conversations about existence as mourners pass through grief. How do you measure, appreciate, or understand the years of someone’s life? Someone who lived well into their 70’s, 80’s, or beyond? There are clues in their stuff, their belongings, that affirm who you knew them to be. And in those belongings, there are wondering questions that may remain long after.
It’s not been two weeks. The things we brought back remain in the box that carefully carried them home. Photos. Drawings from childhood. Old newspaper clippings kept with your name or photo. Jewelry. Simple words in cards. Reclaimed gifts given. Meaningful objects a parent wanted one to have, and things claimed after talking with siblings. From wood burning stovetop to electric eye, two generations of stories are seared in the cast-iron skillets that cooked so many meals. When it will feel right to use them.
This experience has me thinking about my stuff: digital libraries, hard drives, cloud accounts, thumb drives, cache, bookmarks, inboxes, journals, old photos, boxes, files, and blog posts. Where will my t-shirt collection go? We are childfree. If I outlive my companion, who will sort my life and make four lists?
- George Carlin talks about your stuff. Be warned, It contains corse language.
- Friends: Season 2, Episode 3, “The One Where Heckles Dies.”
- Les Miserables, “Valjean’s Death”