My parents, who are excellent planners, have been (thoughtfully) thoughtful and practical about their later years. They are in excellent health, still eating well, exercising, and world-traveling. However, as we all know, time doesn't stop and, into their seventies, they know their remaining good years are limited (I have also been having many tough end-of-life conversations with my aging and elderly patients, which is eye-opening for all of us). They have bought an apartment, and decided recently to make the move out of their townhome on Hallcrest (the only real US "home" I knew as a child and young adult and which they purchased before we returned to McLean for my high school years in the nineties), as soon as the end of next month.
Although I have never been very attached to a "place," having moved around almost every 3-4 years in my lifetime (until I moved to Humboldt!), there are a lot of memories (and things!) wrapped up in that house (albeit more for my parents). The only time during the past thirty years that they haven't been in that house (which was a home base for Vanessa and me through our different educational journeys and holidays home) was one gap during their one post in Copenhagen, Denmark during my med school years.
While my parents have never struck me as particularly sentimental people, in the de-cluttering process, they have worked hard to off-load many things that have had homes there for the better part of thirty years, including decorations that once belonged to my grandmother Georgine and mementos like beautiful vases, art, and textiles that they saved from their many years abroad (I blew through The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson, which practically and sweetly explains what they're doing, in order to save us kids from having to do it). My mom has been sending me snippets and photos from items from the childhoods of my sister and me (including journals, photos, scrapbooks, and more) which has been quite nostalgic, despite us being in much different places and stages in our own adult lives, and also very far away from McLean (in distance and in years).
I have also been very motivated and proactive about de-cluttering our own home here in California. As someone who prefers "less" (clutter, junk, etc.), purging or donating kids' clothes, toys, or items (picture frames, obsolete CD disks, outdoor gear etc.) that have been boxed up and collecting dust in our garage or closets for years hasn't felt uncomfortable in the slightest for me and has been very therapeutic in my newfound free time.
However, I have found myself resisting or putting off "going through" many of the more sentimental items in our possession, including certificates, projects, photos, letters, and more that date from my childhood and twenties, before I met Kelvin. I have some, but not that many, things from my own kids' early years (probably less than my mother saved for me even with all of the moving around that we did!). With so much more being digital these days, I don't have that many printed photos of my kiddos but I do have blogs that I periodically print in book form and have saved some key cards and school mementoes, pretty well organized by year in their school keepsake books.
I was a big scrapbook-maker and album- keeper, as well as journal-writer as a child and young adult; however, if albums or notebooks just sit in boxes (even if I've now carefully labeled/catalogued them all!), are they worth saving/keeping? Is there enduring worth in these things, even if not handled frequently or actively "sparking joy"? At this point, we are not "out of space," planning to move, or on our last days (probably-- as we never know, right!?), which can sometimes (when the fill the space you have) be a driver of off-loading things. I am trying to figure and sort out "why" I feel so conflicted about releasing some of these mementos, but I know I'm not alone-- there is a reason that Marie Kondo and her KonMari method recommends saving the decluttering of such "sentimental items" for last (however, she writes to try to help us, "Mementos are not memories. We can still honor our past while letting go of excess.").
I am thinking about my parents frequently as they make this big life transition. I won't get to "say goodbye" in person to our Hallcrest home, but I will, as Marie Kondo writes, "thank it for its service" and move forward to a new chapter. Thankfully, a house is just a place and things are just things. I am thankful to still have my parents around and good health for, with hope, many more years!
