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Finally Finished: Tales of Cleaning Out
Winnowing the stuff of a life well-lived
My last post about clearing out the stuff my packrat husband left behind was a tear-soaked missive. Okay, hold on, that’s the first time I’ve called my husband a packrat. (Well, in my writing, that is.)
Grieving and cleaning make strange bedfellows, in my view, though I expect that anyone who’s lost a family member can tell similar yarns of joy and woe.
I’m obviously wrong about these two actions forming an odd pairing. They go together like wine and cheese: one is rarely found without the other. However, I wasn’t ready for the effect all this cleaning would have on my grief process. Honestly, I was totally unprepared for all the stages of grief and how nonlinear the process would be.
People depart this life and leave behind the stuff of a life well- or poorly-lived. The quality of the junk makes the case for how successfully one may have navigated his or her years.
My mother recently moved to a senior living facility. She struggled to decide what decorative items to leave behind. She took too much with her, we all believe, but a few more weeks in the new place should illuminate that fact. Unpacked boxes in her one and only closet will tell that tale.
