Last updated on 8 December 2020
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12:15pm. August 28, 2018.
Lying on the cleared carpet of my father’s vacant apartment, I was staring at my watch. Quiet, like a church out of session or a museum. I was unsettled.
Two men from Habitat for Humanity had just loaded more than half a truck with Dad’s furniture. I had 14 boxes of his books and cds piled into my car ready to donate to the library. Twenty-two days after he died, Elin and I had finished clearing out his things.
The day before, we took 24 of those extra large garbage bags filled with his clothing and bedding to the curb for Purple Heart.
A voice inside my head told me to be very aware of this moment. Burn it into my brain. Capture. Hold. Remember
It is human nature that despite even our most deliberate attempts, our brains fail our hearts. No matter how fiercely we commit to maintaining a feeling, our memories lose their sharpness. They fall victim to decay like fruit left on the counter. I was aware time would erode my recollection of the moment, the grief, the sadness, the desperation I felt that my father was no longer a part of this life.
It is human nature that despite even our most deliberate attempts, our brains fail our hearts.
So I took a photo of my watch.
I feared that my memories of my father would drift away as we donated all his stuff. I’d had more than 59 years with him and it was as if our entire relationship left in the couch in the Habitat for Humanity truck or in his piano now sitting in a community room at a senior center in Ann Arbor or in the clothing that had been scrunched in the bags sitting beside the street in front of his apartment.
We are not our things. But when a loved one dies all we are left with as reminders of our relationships with them is their stuff. In all of the possessions they touched, wore, used, are pieces of them and our experience with them. And I’ve come to believe that the more a loved one’s absence tears at us, the greater the importance of anything that reminds us of them.
I got rid of almost everything. I did not wish to be reminded of my father’s passing every time I turned somewhere in our home.
I got rid of almost everything. I did not wish to be reminded of my father’s passing every time I turned somewhere in our home. I did keep a few things of his: a wool sweater, a knit cap, a sculpture that was a favorite of my father’s and my mom’s, and boxes of photographs I tried to pawn off on his brother, my uncle Richard.
My behavior is clearly contradictory: I wanted both to hold onto the memory of my father and I wanted to rid myself of the pain of his departure. It doesn’t make a lot of sense but then I’m human, and like other humans, I do a lot of things that don’t make sense.
It has to do, I think, with comfort with transitions. At the core of every difficulty one might have with moving from one thing to another is how firmly we hold onto things as they are as how it’s supposed to be and we expect to be forever.
At the core of every difficulty one might have with moving from one thing to another is how firmly we hold onto things as how it’s supposed to be.
When Dad died, I realized suddenly that I had become a parentless child. Sounds silly now as I am hardly a kid. But I suspect that we hold onto the notion that the people who are our most significant relationships are never going to leave us. My mom died when I was 22. That was traumatic enough. In a funny way, Dad’s passing is a fresh wound of that time and an even more poignant reminder of how temporary everything is for everyone.
I didn’t always get along with Dad and I certainly had issues with his views. But he was my father, among the most significant people in my life. Just knowing he was there when and if I needed him was enough. Until he wasn’t.
I keep the photo of my watch at the moment I completed clearing out his apartment in my photos on my phone as a reminder of all my memories of him. And of all the significance in moments in our lives, like a parent’s passing.
If I could pass on a big life lesson, trite as it sounds, is to be totally present and appreciate moments with those we love, spouses, partners, children, sibs, parents.
Last week, I got to spend some time with three of my daughters, each separately, in different settings. Thoughts about my father and this transition in my life floated in my head in my time with my girls.
“These are significant moments,” I told myself silently. “Hold onto them.”
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Christian,
You have an amazing way putting word on paper. I love how you put things in perspective about our relationships. You are able to cherish the memories while spreading love to the community. You’re dads belongings will fill a new home giving someone a bright light, warm clothes, comfy couch to reflect in their own way. I am very fortunate to call you a friend!
Very well written. I for one have never been that good at writing, that was one of Kerianne’s strong points. Anything important I neede to write, she would always proof read everything that I had written. She would say, you get the point across, but you take way to long to do it. LOL.
It occurred to me after I read your essay, that I have had to do what you did 3 times. My grandmother, Dad, and now my spouse. In all 3, waves of emotions came they me at different times. Grandma with waves of my child hood. My grandfather passed when I was in 6th grade and when we passed my mother has always said,”that I changed over night”. He was the only male father figure that had always been there for me. (At that point she was going on husband number 3). I was packing my childhood to never be seen again except for the few things that I kept.
My real father passed 2 years ago in Wisconsin. He had lived there for years by himself. When cleaning his place I was put into a place that I had never thought that I would ever be. My parents had divorced when I was in 2nd grade. My mother raised me in Utah, and he moved away. The last time that I saw him was when I was in 8th grade. So I guess I was around 13, when I was packing I was 51. I received a letter 2 times a year, my birthday and Christmas. So, I’m packing a house for a person that I really didn’t know. I had reunited with him the January before his death and he was suffering from Dementia. Anyway, while packing I found all kinds of things from my childhood that he had gotten sent to him and a flood of memory’s came back. I also found and learned about how he had lived his life. I wish that we had reunited sooner and that he would have been around to see his grandchildren.
Now, I’m packing my spouses stuff. Let me tell you, it is the hardest of all. I will be doing this for awhile. What do I give away? What will the kids want when they get older? It’s tougher to decide on what to keep and with just about everything a memory comes to mind. Some things are easier to pack, and others, well I’ll pack them later.
None of the packing that I have done for all has been easy, it just got harder as time went on. I learned of their lives that they had and where they had come from. But, in all 3, I valued the love, and good times that I had with them. Im moving on and I really realize how short that our time is with our loved ones and that time should be cherished. They never leave me, their spirit lives on in me and my kids.
Bryan,
First let me say how sorry I am for your losses. One is hard enough. Three? I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, particularly the loss of your wife. I don’t believe I would be able to carry on well if Elin died. She’s that important to my life. So I guess, I can imagine some of your hardship.
I always appreciate when people write me or comment on my posts. It is after all one of the reasons I write. Of course it is a passion, something intrinsic to how I want to live my life. And it is to share my experience in the hopes that, as you have demonstrated, it will resonate with others and hopefully help them on their journey. I don’t believe I’m special. Quite the opposite. I’m so human and much of my experience is similar to others’.
As I was clearing out Dad’s stuff it occurred to me that his possessions were merely that–things he owned. It was the meaning that I was assigning them that made the debate–keep or give away–so hard. After reflecting and writing my piece, I knew that it was what I kept inside me–in my heart and mind–that reflected who and what my father meant to me that mattered. The same could be said for your grandfather, father and wife, though I realize it’s that much harder with our spouses. I don’t put much value in things. Of course like anyone I have some things I covet and Dad’s sweater is one thing special to me. But I couldn’t hold onto everything he owned because I was hurt by his loss. The few things I have kept of his are more special because they are few.
I believe there are two parts to this–deciding on the place our deceased loved one’s things could have in our lives and going through the grief of their passing. It’s easy to intertwine the two of them but they don’t necessarily need to be or should be. I’m still grieving my mom’s death–36 years ago–Dad’s death ripped open the wound I had from that. Death is a fact of life. I have a few good Buddhist friends who have reminded me of the impermanence of life. It makes our experience on this earth that much more poignant. I’m working to appreciate life in moments.
Wiping some tears after that good read. I feel your pain. I went through it too and continue to…as you know. I miss my dad and he did some awful things to me as a child, but as an adult and when I moved away…things changed. When my mom passed, he changed. When he started dating Esther in the last 6 years of his life…he really changed and that is when we became close. I have a couple of his coats that I wear. I have the mid century modern bedroom set that my parents had all their married life and I sleep in that bed on my organic mattress that I just bought. I remember thinking when all those neighbors and strangers were going through his house, buying and touching his things, I thought that it would make a great outline for the start of a book. Like a Sliding Doors movie. I also remember feeling like I had been promoted to one of the few remaining “older ancestors” and how proud I was but scared of that notion. That now out of all the amazing photos of when I was a kid…now I’m one of those cherished grown ups and my relatives kids are me back then. It’s a very peculiar feeling. Now my sister and brother and I feel as though we need to reignite the interest in a family reunion. A gathering of relatives that haven’t gathered for years when we all claimed to become TOO BUSY or reunions just fell by the wayside. A my daughter knows nothing about my side of the family but she does her dads side, I feel an obligation to pull some of that together for her as we someday this summer make a pilgrimage back to PA to spread my mom’s and dad’s ashes and visit with those of us still living. Living life. Living the moment. Spending time, telling stories, hugging, laughing and maybe feeling a bit out of our comfort zone but connecting our ancestral calling. Sending you blessings and love in our journey to move forward…one step at a time.
Thank you Kathleen. I had a good bit of nostalgia too when my Dad’s brother and sister-in-law visited for Dad’s memorial. We went through all the photos Dad had of his entire life, including photos he acquired when he was younger of his life growing up in central Illinois. I wanted Uncle Richard to have the photos; he took a few but refused most. I have them in a couple boxes here. I’m ambivalent about our shared history. My daughters know much of their mom’s side but very little of my side (we are divorced) and I feel compelled to share with them our rich history so they have a more complete picture of who they are. I try not to fixate on “things.” It is my belief that it is in the feelings and experiences I had with Dad that I can relish his memory and our relationship. I didn’t quote Mitch Albom I’m my piece when he wrote, “death ends a life, not s relationship,” but I should have. I know my father lives on in me and I’m my children regardless of the possessions I keep. And with time we all go to dust. I think the most important thing is that I be a person of whom he was proud and would be were he still alive. That is the memorial I strive to offer him. And I hope against hope that I am the person of whom my daughters and son can also be proud and share with their children. Thank you for your comments and for reading my essay. It is always humbling and magnificent to know I’ve touched someone with my words.
Hi Chris, that was beautifully said. Hope all is well in your world. -John Kirchner
Thank you for taking the time to read my essay. I really appreciate it when I hear from readers who take the time to comment. Be well.