I am naturally a hoarder, but aspire to be minimalist. My husband, D, is much the same.  We love the idea of a house free of clutter, but we have so much stuff that we like, or might be useful one day. 

Every so often we gird our loins and go through a room clearing things we know we’ll never use again, and feel a sense of smug satisfaction when chucking it out or taking it to the charity shop.

But then there is THE room. It was supposed to be my office when I worked from home, but it is above the garage and rather chilly in winter. I prefer to nest in the kitchen - where I am sitting right now.  

THE room has become a dumping ground for everything that doesn’t have a home.  More importantly, it is the room where I put my parents’ stuff since my mother’s death in 2022. It has been gnawing at me for the past year, nagging me to sort. But until this week I haven’t been able to tackle it.

My sisters and their offspring have taken all the items they want. I am left with deciding what to do with everything else, two lifetimes of memories.

A couple of months ago I realised I couldn’t do this alone, so we had a joint effort, when D cleared out some of our stuff and I looked at Mum and Dad’s things. I’m not talking about clothes or normal paperwork, they were cleared out quickly, but their personal things that they had chosen to save - photos, school reports, love letters dreaming of their marriage, memories from my childhood. Things that hold dear because they are almost a part of my parents.

This week I had another go in the room. I found I could throw out more things - photos from their holidays after I had left home, ancient driving licences and passports. It is a very gradual process, working out what I can part with. I am concerned that in the future I’ll regret binning things in haste.

I am in the stage of grief where I can now separate the things from the memories and love in my heart. Throwing out vaccination certificates no longer feels wrong, but I still have a long way to go. I am trying to do a little most days. Maybe just five minutes and popping one item in the rubbish.

Of course, grief is different for everyone, nothing is right nor wrong. I can see how I am progressing through it. I am interested to hear of your coping mechanisms for such a situation.

Susannah

A Moodscope member