Out with The Old…
It is said that one should purge old documents and start fresh when the calendar turns a page. I cannot. It is literally one of the hardest chores I must endure. Forget Marie Kondo and her penchant for only housing things that bring you joy. Forget Martha Stewart and her staff that are able to warehouse her collections of ‘good things’. No, my struggle is to avoid erasing the past. I cling to it as if it will ‘poof’ from my memory bank if I shred or toss that particular, valuable remnant of my life.
Boxes pile up in the garage. Condensed files from bygone days weigh down my closet shelves. Clothing from three generations try to avoid the beige tinge that ultimately finds its way onto the gloves, Chinese jackets and linens I stubbornly retain. I am a packrat. It is not a title I embrace easily. But—and it is a big but, I try each January to change my behavior. I have given up on New Year’s Resolutions. The weight will stick upon my hips, I will not throw away that Bat Mitzvah dress my daughter wore twenty-six years ago.
Still—keeping certain items does have its redeeming qualities. I had kept a few of my daughter’s toddler dresses. They were pristine and with their three-dimensional embroidery design were as adorable now as when they were first gifted to her. My granddaughter was enthralled when I gave them to her. She proudly paraded around displaying the handiwork of the bear ballerina with attached tulle on its tutu. It served its purpose—she twirled and bowed as only a proper four-year old ballerina should. My son’s toddler sweatshirt with its three-dimensional monkey’s banana can still produce a laugh when it exits its zippered mouth.
The paper files—those are another story. True confessions, after the death of my beloved father thirty years ago, his medical files still reside in my garage. It is as if discarding them will diminish his life. Sometimes, I think there will be a clue as to how his cancer could have been caught or treated earlier. A pipe dream to be sure.
And yet, there is comfort in my holding onto these artifacts and papers. Now, if I could just convince my children that is the case and send all these ‘treasures’ to them. I need the room.
—in my head as well as my closet.
