Making Story Out of Stuff

Just Stuff or Magical Portals? How we can hold the memories and stories when we have to let go.

The hospice nurse said she liked the new room. I didn’t know I needed to hear those words until she said them. I could see how being able to look out the window and see all the flowers, and birds, and even the deer, gave my mother-in-law (whom I will call B) more things to be interested in, but this move also took a lot of time and resources and caused push back, so the validation hit me deep.

This was the second time that we moved B into a new room since living here and it was the third time I really had to sit down and go through her/their things. It’s always a little heart breaking to pack them up. After her husband’s death, going through his things felt like a natural part of the process. Things were given away or donated and somethings got tossed, but a few things I created memory art with. He wore clip on ties and had monogramed (can you say I married a Southern lady) handkerchiefs and for the holidays one year I framed them in shadow boxes for his family.

Living in the Memory

Living here meant I could take my time. Maybe it was pure procrastination or the consequence of living in this in-between space, but I felt there was always time to figure out the best thing to do. It was just last summer, after my mother-in-law’s health took a turn, that I finally reorganized her husband’s office area—more than nine years after moving in. Even stripped of most of his things, the space held a presence, a memory of our conversations and moving out the desk felt like a physical transaction with the house—a long over do of letting go.

So the other week when I was once again making changes, pulling down and packing up their things, I couldn’t help but wonder how different everything would have been if B didn’t have dementia. The what ifs can be so overwhelming sometimes. What would she have let go of? What changes would she have made? Would she have wanted to say here? What stories would she have told about the things I’ve been trying to hold on to for her? It’s not just the trajectory of a life robbed and a vivacious personality dimmed, it’s how all the stories wrapped up in these things are lost too. And my mother-in-law loved her things.

When we first moved in B kept telling me how she had nightmares about someone coming in and stealing her china. There is so much irony here because the china displayed in the dinning room cabinet wasn’t even hers, it was her mother-in-laws. Her china was hidden away in a back cabinet. I pulled it out a few years ago to organize it—she has china from all three of her marriages—but no one, including her, knew who belonged to which pattern. And, the only story I know about B and china was told to me by her first husband’s sister, about her second husband’s mother’s china, and the plates that were swept off the counter and onto the floor after getting caught in the afghan she was wearing. Her sister-in-law LOVED telling that story.

Because of B’s fears, when we moved in we tried to keep as many things as we could the way she had it. This meant keeping storage units (something I would not do if we had it to do over—I could cry over the money wasted). I know we did this because we thought that after everyone got settled we would return to the stuff and organize it, but to be honest I’m not sure we ever really settled. There were moments for sure, but it was a lot more work to integrate our lives and be caregivers and caretakers than I was expecting.

I know it’s easy to think I’m being hard on my self, I’m not, it’s just that 10 years seems like it was more than enough time to get organized. In hindsight it was just a weird time. B was still a very active participant in our new family dynamic, so it was hard to pack up her things—even if she wasn’t using them. We were all still grieving the loss of her husband and as a family of three we were trying to figure out how to make these new responsibilities work. This delay however meant that by the time we had to move things and update spaces she had lost most of the memory of her things.

To be fair many of the stories were already lost when we moved in, but she knew that the things were hers, or at least she thought they were. If I could go back I would opt for more conversations and learning. Speak with more of her friends and family and notate the stories, because now we’re in a time when she doesn’t know or care about many of her things. While sad, it has also been helpful, and there are still special items that create a smile and offer her great comfort, even when I don’t know why.

I was thinking about this when I tried to pack up the front room with its big windows and afternoon sun that overlooks the garden. This was a room I spent most of my time in—I call it my joy room. And I love it. I think this room holds wonderful energy and I thought it would be the perfect place for B. I only managed to pack up one box, before deciding to leave everything else—there will be time later, I know.

I left their books, and their travel trinkets, and added more family pictures to the shelves. Instead of minimizing stuff, I essentially filled the bookcase with their things. Maybe that is part of the magic of this room, it’s simply filled with stories. There are things that I don’t know the story of and things that I do. Things that have mingled with our stuff for over a decade. Things that may have new stories to tell one day, but for now watch over her and reminder her that she is loved.

Story Portals

I’m not much of a pack rat about my own things (except my books) but I do have a few things that I consider story portals. One of my favorites is the light switch from my childhood room.

I shared my childhood room with my sister. It had yellow walls, with yellow puffed polyester bedspreads, and yellow curtains that swayed from the heat blowing from the registers below the window, and yellow rice papered lamp shades that were handmade by my mom. The room featured three unrelated pieces that still make me ponder the design decisions, there was some kind of holly hobby-ish wallpaper displayed on only one wall (which seemed so radical at the time), a snow white and the seven dwarfs ceiling light that I picked out, and this Wonder Woman light switch plate.

Seeing this plate, which sits on the bookcase in my office, conjures up all sorts of stories from my childhood. With one glance I can reconstruct the bedroom. And, if I pause for just a moment so many stories flow back to me.

Do you have story portals?

Are you organizing? Spring cleaning? Downsizing?

Look for your portals and take a few minutes to share the story of your stuff. We can’t keep everything, but we can repurpose things, make art, and share our stories. I wish I had done more of this with B. I want so much to understand their importance and meaning, to know how I can add to their story, how I can let go.

With care,
Tami