300,000 decisions

My parents, still enjoying good health and living independently in their 90s, are sorting through their belongings in their home of nearly 40 years as they prepare to downsize to an apartment.

It is a big job, and my sister and brother-in-law are doing a lot of the heavy lifting, by virtue of them living nearby. In their spare moments, of which they have very few, they go to Mom & Dad’s house and pick up boxes to take to the donation center. They offer moral support. The job of sifting through a lifetime of belongings is not only physically strenuous, but each unopened box holds the potential of releasing a flood of memories, good or bad: a letter from a long-gone relative; Mother’s Day cards on brittle paper with “I love yous” scrawled in crayon; a serving bowl that brings back a long-forgotten detail from their wedding day.

I know my mother has treasured belongings she would like to pass on: like her beautiful Wurlitzer piano, which she bought used around 1960 when she was newly married and looking to make extra income playing piano at churches. It’s the same piano where I sat for hours at a time with the dreaded kitchen timer, ticking off the minutes until I was released from practicing my scales and arpeggios and could go outside to play. I own my own piano now, so there’s no room for Mom’s Wurlitzer. My kids won’t want it either, seeing as none of them are settled in their own homes yet.

There is a lifetime of clothing, shoved to the back of the closet when it didn’t quite fit anymore or was dreadfully out of style. Quilts sewn by my great-aunt are neatly folded and tucked in a cedar chest at the end of the bed. Each quilt was lovingly made from leftover fabric scraps from her sewing projects.

I’m not as sentimental as my parents are: at least, I don’t think I am. I look at their home and think it is too full, too cluttered with things no one will want. They have not lived a lavish life, and many of their possessions were not purchased new, so it is easy for me to dismiss it as mostly junk. But I know that isn’t true. It’s a collection of photographs, dishes, Christmas cards, and books collected over eight decades; it tells the story of 66 years of marriage, four kids, seven grandkids. It all means something. Yet when they leave this world, they can take none of it.

There is an old comic strip that I’ve come across from time to time over the years: In it, a man has lifted his garage door to reveal that it is completely packed with old toys, tools, and other stuff. “Someday,” quips the father, “this will all be yours, son!”

Margareta Magnusson’s book, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning (2017), frames the act of clearing clutter, as well as emotional baggage, as a responsibility and act of love toward our families, to relieve them of the burden of sorting through clutter once we are gone. 

Magnusson writes, “A loved one wishes to inherit nice things from you. Not all things from you.”

There are 300,000 items in an average American home. At least, that’s what has been reported by both the LA Times and the Boston Globe. While my parents undertake this herculean task of downsizing, I am recognizing it as a radical expression of the love they have for their children. They are not leaving us to make 300,000 decisions when they are gone. They are intentionally weeding out the excess, and only keeping the best things for their new apartment. Not only is it an act of love, but a liberation of sorts.

What do we keep and what do we dispose of so the younger generation doesn’t have to? I worry about what becomes of the stack of love letters written between me and my husband before we were married? Who will read my old journals, written when I was a melodramatic and self-indulgent college student? Would my children recognize me in those pages I wrote so long ago? Do I want them to? Maybe I’ll build a fire in my backyard and ceremoniously light a match, watching my old missives go up in smoke. I’ll clear out my closet and my drawers. As my parents eliminate the excess, I’m inspired to show that same type of love to my own children someday. I’ll take on the 300,000 decisions so my kids don’t have to. 

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