What Becomes of All Our Stuff?
For many years, I have kept and preserved six large sealed bins of “keepsakes.” Some years ago I went through these bins and selected items to scan or photograph and preserve digitally. More recently I have done a second pass. I concentrated on items listed in their envelopes as “not scanned” and asked myself in terms of each single item whether to keep this or throw it away. I found myself throwing away a great many items and also reflecting on the time, not all that far away, when someone will have the task of going through all my life’s remainders and deciding whether to keep or throw away.
What becomes of all our stuff?
Many of the items I put in the trash were 1) old pictures with no idea of who this was, 2) old articles that were meaningful to someone else but not to me, 3) pictures of family members I never really cared for, 4) old records that I see no future need for, and 5) images and items of poor quality
My wife’s mother had been living alone in an apartment at age 86. She had a fall and decided it was time to move to assisted living. She left an apartment full of stuff with no space for it in the small bedroom where she had moved. All of it had to be gone through, sorted, donated, given to friends and neighbors, trashed, and a small amount preserved. My wife inherited this task.
My neighbor across the court died of a heart attack on vacation in his ’50’s. His wife who loved him dearly continued to live in their house for 15 more years with all his stuff. Then she became old and unable to live independently and moved to assisted living. Her family put out seemingly tons of old stuff for the trash, recycling, and various donations. Her stuff and his stuff.
My long time friend whose wife died could not bring himself to get rid of her clothes, her belongings, even her shoes beside the bed. He left it all just as it was. Now he has fallen and broken a hip and in rehab and looking at living with a walker the rest of his life. What what will become of her stuff?
Our neighbors on the court, neighbors for some 20 years, have been putting out huge amounts of recycling, trash, Salvation Army donations, and other unwanted stuff. They are not dead, then are moving to Florida, which is close to it. Their house has been full, and they must dispose of a lot of stuff before the move. It is like a rehearsal, a rehearsal for what comes later on.
And as I go through all my keepsakes, one by one, piece by piece, I know in my heart that most of these precious possessions, precious to me, are just “stuff” to others. Someone will clean them all out and discard them for trash or recycling, or to keep for awhile but then later get rid of. I anticipate this and do not dispute it, because I have done it myself. Maybe they will have a smile to two, a nod, a laugh of fond remembrance. But their lives go on, and on without me and without my stuff.
Hopefully our lives are not the stuff we leave behind, although perhaps they actually are.
Presidents have a planned Presidential Library to preserve them when they leave. Most of us have no such privilege. Most of us leave stuff that gets thrown away. The most unfortunate among us leave nothing at all. The unfortunate leave no trace.
I am amazed at how easilyI discard some items I had saved in earlier year: articles by brother wrote, articles my father wrote, newspaper clippings, graduation programs, church certificates, pictures of dead relatives – it is almost like playing God. They are dead, and I am not, and I am deleting them. Sorry to them but so be it.
Those of us who live ordinary and commonplace lives have nothing more to look forward to than this when we are gone. Someone will dispose of all our stuff. And then we will be more gone from earth than we already were.
There is one complication in this discussion. In past ages, a person’s stuff consisted of paper housed in books or boxes. Now it consists a lot in digital images and documents housed on hard drives and stored in cloud storage. Much of my stuff is now digital. This means it might possibly endure for longer, or that it can be dealt with by a simple “select” and then “delete.” And with that I am gone forever unless you rescue me from the trash.
I have texts of my authored books and all my old sermons when I was a minister. I have photos and videos of all my travel and adventures. I have articles, medals, letters of appreciation, records, awards, notes, everything dear to me. But all that is just my stuff. Others have their own lives to lead. What, if anything, will remain when I do not?
I imagined someone sitting at this table beside the boxes of my remaining stuff. Old seminary papers, sermons, book manuscripts, motorcycle pictures, travel photos, Boy Scout camp, parents, childhood, brothers died and killed, swim medals, books written, friends I knew. What, if anything, will endure?
The poor leave little or nothing. The rich leave a lot, but none of them survive it. As they say, “you can’t take it with you,” and you obviously can’t. The most of us leave some things, but those things do not endure. All of it is “stuff,” and all of it was meaningful to us, but not to others, even our own children. This is true of rich and poor alike. Accept this as just how life is, and how it must be.
