Recently I have been helping a dear friend move, pack, store, unpack, and sort through several lifetimes worth of personal belongings. Items he hasn’t seen in five years or more, some items he’s never seen, have come to the surface of his consciousness, needing attention, a decision, an action.
It has sometimes been heartbreaking for me to watch him deal with not just the physical objects, but the memories they evoke, the visions and songs replayed in the memory mind as he tries to place each item in the context of his or his parents’ or grandparents’ lives.
What do you keep, and why? Practical value–I can always use more coffee cups; sentimental value–this was my first baseball glove, these were my mother’s rings; or gut reaction–I can’t part with this, even though I don’t know why, I must keep it near.
We make three piles: keep, donate, trash. What would be my treasure might not be his: the rings his father had made for his mother, the preserved baby shoes, the birthstone ring his father wore. Where do these rate, compared with saved clippings, old piano-tuning tools, photos of his high school town, letters written home when he was in the service, all lovingly saved by others?
The Good Will pile grows with old dishes, tea sets, knick-naks, linens, kitchen utensils. The trash pile grows even larger, with outdated electronics, ruined clothing and bedding, old books, outdated medicines, and broken kitchenware. Somehow the Titanic-like mound of boxes and crates grows smaller each day, with, finally, an organization of the kept items symbiotically placed in order.
And finally, two weeks into this, some weight has been lifted from head and hands and my dear friend is beginning to feel free to again hear his own music, see his own vision, and write a free and heartfelt piece that has been trapped inside for too long.
I promise my friend that I will see this through, to be there through the easy and the trying, to give a hand and yes, even a heart. For I have been through this process too many times myself. I know the gut-wrenching pain and sleepless crying nights all too well. I won’t let him do this alone, so long as he will let me help.