“Let’s say that each vanished person left me some thing, and then I feel my inheritance when I am reminded of one of them.”
One Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley

How did I know to borrow One Thousand Acres from my neighborhood Little Library last month? Oh yes, I recognized the title. I was sure I must have read it before, as I enjoy Jane Smiley’s writing. Certainly I remembered knowing Jessica Lang played opposite Michelle Pfeiffer in the movie, though when I watched the trailer I realized I’d never seen it. Now that I’ve read the book, I’m fairly certain it was my first time. The copyright date of 1991, me then a working mom of an almost toddler, coupled with not remembering story details confirmed it as a new read for me. Now as I watch my own daughter mother my first grandchild, I’m glad I waited until now. So much in this book I relate to as a 62-year-old that I’m not sure I would have back then. And its traumatic themes may not have benefited me as a new mom.

It’s relevant that during these past few weeks I’m finally getting rid of files and boxes and books. Again. I’m not sure what round of going through things this is (see About that marble table (or what about all that stuff?). Since Dad died in 2014 followed by Mom in 2021, I’ve had no problem getting rid of most of their things. For a sometimes too efficient “doer” I quickly found owners for things I wasn’t emotionally tied to. Wheelchair, walker, clothes, furniture: all found new homes soon after. But…umpteen photo and genealogy albums and scrapbooks I tucked away into my closet and cupboards. Dad’s Northwest history books were added to a bookshelf, selected CDs from their musical collection joined ours. Yet, folders and cartons of their papers and work archives, collected greeting cards, Mom’s letters and journals overloaded the lowest shelf of our bedroom bookcase, spilling out into nearby piles, spotted with final wills, IRS returns, probate copies.

I am releasing my grip on my own possessions and those from our daughters’ childhoods. As I undertook this latest purge, I began with the easier task: streamlining our bedroom bookshelves. This year more stringently enforcing my previously set guideline: keeping favorite authors and books I’ll read again. Next up are those boxes from my teenage hood, having predetermined that I’ll only keep my senior yearbook. For now. (Doesn’t that mean I should have no qualms getting rid of those of my parents?)

Yes, somehow our parents’ stuff has felt different. Dad died nearly a decade ago, and yet I’ve been unable to clean out those final folders and piles. I realize now, perhaps there’s more to this than simply not finding the time. Mom’s stuff too, though her death was more recent. If I don’t get rid of it, maybe they are still here; maybe I can better know them. It was wise to wait some time. I could not have done this even when mom was alive, not to mention right after her death. But now I can better understand it as the past.

Last weekend I began in earnest. As I began to organize my bedroom with its haphazard piles, I started with easier things, those books. Metering volumes out to Little Lending Libraries and beyond. Then I got to other stacks of Dad’s (even one from my grandfather!) old high school yearbooks. Really, Dede? Nearly all those people have died now. And I did realize I could forward them onward either to Lincoln High or a brother. Finally I moved many of those papers from Dad and Mom into the recycling. It’s very freeing even if I feel as though I should be playing “Taps”.

The shredding and recycling continues. Yes, I’ve formed small piles for my brothers. Last week I mailed Dad’s Lincoln High yearbooks to one brother, verbose saved happy father and birthday cards to another. Allowing them a final look before they make their own decisions whether to keep or purge. I too made a list of the CDs and will be moving out most – after all, today we have platforms like Spotify! (For those curious, I tested this with As Time Goes By by the Norman Luboff Choir. Now, I haven’t listened to this CD since Mom died, yet I began crying as I heard it. Yes, should I ever need to retreat to those old musical memories, Spotify can take me there.)

I’m being a little more lenient with mom’s writing, even that spiral notebook she kept late in life when her vision was so limited that it is illegible. As I do, I find myself bolder with the recycling bin as I recognize what a gift it is to own all 300 pages of her unpublished memoir. I don’t need the primary sources that fed her writing. I too hold onto the volumes of other writing she wrote for us kids. Yes, in my world of today I still make room; perhaps one day a daughter or grandchild will be interested. I too uncovered the back up drive to her computer with the electronic files. Her extensive writing and documentation provides ideas for others hoping to create lasting memories for family, though I can’t imagine most to be as prolific (or driven) as our mom.

I suspect there’s a nearly invisible divider separating those things that most bring my parents back to me from others that matter less. Ultimately, I don’t want to hold onto lots of stuff. Whenever the time comes, sooner or later, when we move from this house, I want to feel freer of possessions. I’m reminding myself, as instructed by a friend, to look through those piles, whether it be my old yearbooks or my kids’ school drawings; reminisce; move on. Fun to see, but no longer needed. I’ve passed them on to our daughters who, I suspect, may look at briefly before adding them to the recycling. It seems to me that younger generations don’t hold onto stuff quite like we did. And I think that’s good. I clearly remember when Mom went through her various moves and at a certain point gave us each of us kids all of our school work. I selected a very few things to keep, now next on my “looking to purge” list.

The memories bring joy and tears, and opportunities and lessons to learn from. I’m reminded above all of the most important memory to carry with me: our parents loved us all deeply, tried to do their best in life and gave us so much. I’m pretty certain I’ll never forget that.

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