Deciding What to Keep

Receiving calls from people who have lost loved ones always breaks my heart. What will I do when I'm faced with the inevitable?  How will I even begin?  I've learned that feelings have be sorted quickly as the business of death leaves no time for mourning. I imagine sitting in the middle of a house deciding how to sort:  One pile to keep, one to donate and one for the dump. Cold, harsh reality. Who’s to say what has meaning when everything left was important enough in some way to keep.  We receive calls from children cleaning out their parent’s houses, parent’s cleaning out their children’s houses and neighbors helping neighbors. 

My heart broke the morning I received a call from a distraught woman.  Hearing the crack in her voice, I shifted from my normal carefree receptionist voice and quieted my chirpy responses.  She informed me she was calling from out of state--Texas.  "I am sorry" she said through her tears, "My son, he was attending the university--second semester--I received a call yesterday--no matter, I need to schedule a pickup".  I softly asked her a few questions--location, what was to be picked up--the usual queries, but with a kinder probe.  She explained to me that her son died and she needed to move his belongings from his apartment to re-coup his deposit.  The expenses of the funeral were mounting and she was trying to save anywhere possible.  I took the information and made the necessary arrangements. 

  

I spoke to Sue daily until the apartment was cleaned out. She told me she had never been to her son's college town so I took pictures and emailed them to her. I became an un-biased listener as she described her son. She had recognized a change in her relationship with him but thought it was because he was busy with new friends and challenging college courses.  Not long before his death he suggested she come for a visit to see his apartment and meet his friends.  She wanted to go, but money was tight and her work schedule was heavy.  She promised a visit soon and "now," she said "there is no time".  He was young, healthy, and fun-loving.  "How can this be?" she asked her faceless new friend. 

Rather than send Sue an invoice, I sent her a box filled with pieces from her son’s life.  Knowing what to send Sue was challenging.  Pictures, of course, of happier times but what else?  I struggled as I chose music CDs, a bottle of cologne, a comfy jacket, beach worn sandals, a personal diary and books with inscriptions.  With finality, I taped up the box and readied it for mailing.  I gathered my two little girls and cinched them safely into our car.  As I pulled from my driveway destined for the post office I glanced at their round soft faces in the rear-view mirror.  Sue's son was gone--forever.  I cleared my thoughts and with a new understanding I called out to them-- "After we stop by the post office, how 'bout the zoo today, girls"?