When my family moved into my parent’s house to care for my dad following my mom’s death, we unknowingly took on a big challenge. And, no, I don’t mean taking care of Dad. I’m talking about inheriting 50-plus years of possessions that my parents had accumulated, including the things they had inherited from my grandparents when they passed away.
I now had years’ worth of stuff, including three full sets of china in the attic, three generations of photos and albums, an abundance of pots and pans and other cooking supplies, holiday decorations, including three Nativity sets, and more. I struggled with making decisions about things that meant something to my parents but didn’t necessarily to me. My sisters helped when they could, but they faced the same conundrum: Do we keep these things just because they were Mom and Dad’s?
Now, before you start to think that my parents had an overabundance of useless stuff, don’t. Their possessions were the result of a life fully and well lived. Take a moment to stop and think about all the things you have in your house—things that are meaningful to you and that you want to be surrounded by. They bring you joy.
At times, I found myself holding on to my parents’ things . . . just because. Because I felt guilty. Because I thought maybe I’d find a way to fit them into my family’s life. Because I felt like, “Who am I to decide what stays and what goes?” It was a heavy load to bear.
The Flip Side
Suddenly, I found myself looking at my own things very differently. The same critical eye I was developing concerning my parents’ stuff started to creep into my life. And not in a good way.
For example, the trophy my daughter won in her soccer tournament became one more thing that, at some point, someone will have to get rid of. Sure, there is the chance that she will want to proudly display her sixth-grade soccer trophy in her home one day, but my gut says I doubt it. Everything became, in my mind, just one more thing that at some point would have to be donated, discarded, or stored.
It became, for me, an extreme form of Swedish death cleaning, where you go through all your stuff and pare it down, so your family or friends don’t have to. I didn’t want my kids to have to go through these things and make tough decisions about them. I knew the weight doing so brought with it. Each time I would do some normal decluttering, I would ask myself, “Is this something one of my kids would want or are they just going to throw it out?” If I thought they wouldn’t want it, it went.
Both/And
After I lamented how I should never have had my first half-marathon shirt and medal framed, my husband, Mark, offered a bit of advice. He said that if I got rid of everything, I wouldn’t be surrounded by anything that I loved or cherished. And he was right.
I will never be able to completely spare my kids from having to go through some of our stuff. In the meantime, though, I’ll attempt to walk the line between keeping too much and keeping too little, helping them along the way when I can.
