Your Life in a Ticky Tacky Box

jan

Your Life in a Ticky Tacky Box

jan
I'm preparing my mom's house for sale after her passing in August. She and my dad lived here 27 years. They were by no means hoarders, but I have been working since I got here in 2013 to clear the place out without disturbing her reference points while she was alive, and with aggression since she's been dead.

My mom's and dad's energy has been dispersed throughout this community, helping rescued animals, people with vision problems, abused women, church missions, the poor. Another local mission is picking up most of the furniture this week.

What remains is the stuff that fits in boxes. I spent the entire day yesterday properly organizing the family memorabilia. Photos, browned newspaper clippings, wedding announcements, a ribbon from a floral casket spray, a hospital menu from 1959, baby shoes, somebody's wire rimmed glasses. I guess I'm from a long line of archivists. None of this would matter to anyone else; but to me, these are the only things worth keeping.

Funny, my grandparents get one box that they share together. My parents each get their own box. When a life has been lived and you reduce it to something tangible, it fits in a box just like the human body.

With that chore done, I returned to my own packing. I didn't think I was a hoarder, either, but extrapolating this equation logically, I would be allotted two boxes. Well... I stopped at Box 13 and took a break. I actually own a home with my husband in Ohio and have lived there over 20 years. That's where all the GOOD STUFF hangs out. This just represents my foray into being a Snow Bird for three years.

How do you decide what you can live without, and what you can't? Who will decide about my boxes, when they get reduced from 13+ down to two?

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