The day after my Dad died, I borrowed an SUV and drove nine hours- three of them through a blizzard- to be with my Mom. When I turned down her narrow street, the first thing I noticed was an industrial-sized dumpster wedged between the curb and the front porch. “What’s going on?” I asked my sister, thrusting my thumb over my snow-covered shoulder. She sniffed, brushed away some tears, gestured toward the pan rattling in the kitchen, and said, “She wants his stuff gone. As soon as possible. She says she’s put up with it for long enough.”
Entering the unlit parlor which had served as my Dad’s lair, I looked past the drifts of bulging garbage bags and noticed about a dozen large boxes piled in the corner. “What are these?” I asked, pulling back a flap. A thunderclap boomed from the kitchen. “Just more of the [stuff] (expletive deleted) that your Dad had piled all over the [darn] (you get the idea) place!” Right. Got it, I thought, remembering the numerous stacks my Dad had scattered throughout the house. More than once during a nighttime visit to the kitchen or bathroom, one of my family members had fallen into, onto, or over one of his ubiquitous mounds.
Don’t get the wrong idea. My Dad was not a hoarder. Like most of us, he surrounded himself with things that he cared about. Things that, at least to him, were valuable. And that- the “at least to him” part- is the problem for most survivors. Mom made no effort to sort through Dad’s things because, to her, they had no value. They were nothing but a messy inconvenience. She just had a huge metal monster off-loaded onto the town’s sidewalk and my brother, sister, and I started tossing stuff into its gaping maw. My Dad’s “friends”, seeing an opportunity in the carnage, descended like vultures, taking what they knew was valuable.
ENTER THE DUMPSTER…OR STORAGE UNIT
There are two reasons why survivors react the way they do. Either they don’t share the same appreciation for the collection of items amassed by their loved one, or the memories that the accumulation represents are just so strong that throwing away even a McDonald's receipt is just too painful. The solution in my Mom’s case was to get rid of the “[stuff]” as quickly as possible which, sadly, included the house; the flipper who took the house was more than happy to have it. The alternative is to keep your loved one’s house as a Mausoleum of Stuff, or rent a storage unit, which amounts to the same thing.
SINCE THE PIPER ALWAYS GETS PAID, WHY NOT JOIN THE BAND
Mom died in a nursing facility while much of the country was quarantined. My siblings and I were spared the choice of what to do with her estate, because she was not an accumulator. But most people face the opposite situation: “What are we going to do with all of this stuff?” While donation is a wonderful solution, and the benefits to local communities are immeasurable, some items do have value; just ask my Dad’s “friends” who swooped in and took his “[stuff]”…there is a reason resellers who frequent thrift stores and estate sales are called pickers…and yes I’m aware I’m writing about our business model. What’s my point? No matter how you handle your loved one’s estate, someone is going to benefit. Whether it’s the owner of the storage facility, the company who brings the dumpster, the pickers who sift through the Goodwill bins, the people who haul the stuff away- please don’t think they do it out of the goodness of their hearts-, or the liquidation company trying to help you preserve a portion of your loved one’s legacy, the Piper always gets paid. Why not join the band, and keep some of the fruit of your loved one’s labor?
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