The Difficulty In Saying “Goodbye”

My father died twenty years ago. Two years after his death, my mother remarried, sold the family homestead, and moved in with her new husband. When she sold the house, she managed to sell or give away most of its contents. She sold most of his woodworking equipment. One of my daughters wanted the North Carolina twenty cent postage stamp mug. Another needed a bed. I ended up with a Philco radio/record player that my father gave my mother in 1949 on the occasion of their first wedding anniversary, electronic test equipment, and books. Tons of books.

When her second husband died, my mother moved in with my sister, Debbie. The possessions that my mother still owned were put in a storage unit for a brief period of time, and Debbie rapidly either moved them into her house, or got rid of them. So when my mother died three years ago, there was no need for an estate sale.

Kathy’s father died fourteen years ago, but her mother never remarried. When her mother died, six years ago, we were faced with the prospect of cleaning out the house in which her mother had lived for more than forty years. Given that Kathy was an only child, we had no other family members to whom we could distribute her possessions. We ended up renting a storage unit. Over the course of the years we moved various pieces of furniture from the storage unit to other houses, gave items to Kathy’s children, and donated items to Goodwill, Joseph’s Coat, and other organizations. Kathy's mother was a painter, and we inherited several hundred of her paintings. We've hung them, sold them, given them to friends, and donated them, but we still have many in storage.

This month Kathy finally decided that six years with a storage unit was too long, and we cleaned it out. Our garage is now the storage unit, as you can see from the picture above. We would like, one day, to have a functioning garage again, so we will now have to go through the process of keeping, donating, or tossing most of the items in the garage. This, of course, is the difficult part. And while Kathy will have to make many difficult decisions in the near future, her situation has forced me to reconsider my possessions, and the grip they have on me.

I've spent a lifetime building a library that is my pride and joy, and yet, knowing that I will not live forever, I have asked my children to take any of my books they want. I have received very few takers. My children are wise. Most of my father's books are electronics books, and while I have used several of them in my various jobs in the past, there are many that just sit there, never consulted, never to be consulted. Apart from those that may actually be collectors’ items (e.g., Modern Radio Servicing, by Alfred A. Ghirardi, B.S., E.E., copyright 1935), I should get rid of them.

But getting rid of them means saying “goodbye”.

I keep these items because they are a direct connection between me and my father. As long as they are here, I feel that he is here, at least in some manner, and I don't have to say a final “goodbye”. It is silly, I know. My father exists in my memory, not in any of the items he once possessed. Every time I hear myself saying “if the job is worth doing, it is worth doing right”, I have a flashback to my father. The same goes with “if you want the job done right, do it yourself”. And every time the 1937 Tommy Dorsey hit “Marie” shows up on Sirius XM channel 73, I hear my father’s improvised lyrics. “Marie, the dawn is breaking/Marie, you’ll soon be waking” in Dad’s rendition became “Marie, the dawn is breaking/Marie, my belly’s aching”. I will carry my father with me, with or without the books, with or without the electronic test equipment that will never again be used, with or without that classic Philco radio/record player/piece of furniture.

I know all this, in my head. I don't yet know it in my heart.

In order to make room for some of the items Kathy now has in the garage, some of my “stuff” will have to go. Both of us will be making hard decisions in the near future. I believe the hardest decision will be do I burden my children with the desiderata of my life? Should I force them into the position I now find myself?

Sometimes I think “let us have a proper housecleaning, let us get rid of all those items with no value, no use”. At other times I think “I am tired, and I should let my children sort this out”.

I do not know how, eventually, this will be resolved. That will be determined by the circumstances at the time I finally decide to say “goodbye”.