I’ve been a bit more active on social media recently, mostly as a way to share thoughts as I go through a variety of processes that all kinda suck but all need done, you know the type, all the adulting paperwork stuff that you just plough through because you have to. The current focus, and likely the last thing I’ll need to deal with, has been getting my parents flat ready to go on the market (having got probate granted a couple of weeks ago).
It’s been an odd experience, which I was partly prepared for but one aspect of it kinda snuck up on me. I posted this, a succinct summary, that encapsulates many many thoughts and emotions:
Finished clearing my Mums flat, the last “family” stuff. With my Dad, Mum and younger sister all gone it feels like a very pointed END.
Life goes on, of course, but so many memories that were ours, are now just mine. It’s an odd experience.
Posted on Threads and BlueSky (no I can’t decide which I prefer yet).
As I got through the last of the cupboards, finding old letters and photos, things from my Gran, my Aunts and Uncles, cousins and family friends that my Mum had kept (including the wedding invitation my Mum sent to my Dad for THEIR wedding, with a lovely note attached), and it all just re-enforced that all those memories now only belong to me.
What really struck me was that I had expected, subconsciously, to be able to share them with my sister.
I took a moment to sit and process, just letting myself feel the emotions, and eventually found a way to focus my thoughts. Rather than be sad that Jennie isn’t here for me to discuss all the little random things from our childhood that no-one else will remember, I found myself looking for things that her children might like to see when they get older, photos of Jennie on her first day at school, gymnastics competition certificates and the like. I’m putting them aside for later.
There was a LOT to clear out, not just paperwork and photos, there was the not so small matter of my Mum’s furniture, all in pretty good nick, all good quality stuff. And it’s all gone. Some of it sold, some to charity, and some to those needing a ‘new start’ or a helping hand (thanks to a wonderful local Facebook Group). It meant I didn’t have to worry about moving a sofa, or a bed, or a chest of drawers, or a sideboard, or a desk.
It also meant that I got to here little stories about the people who were taking the items, some of which helped me make my peace with the entire process. Mum and Dad are gone, but my Dad’s big heavy computer desk has helped someone who is just starting out with their own business, a set of drawers have gone to a lady who knits so she has somewhere to store her wool (my Mum was an avid knitter before her stroke so this would’ve made her smile). My Mum’s treadmill that she used through her early stroke rehab went to a women getting a hip replacement to help with her rehab. My Mum’s relatively new bed, which was motorised to help her get out of bed has gone to a woman who couldn’t afford a new one, and last but not least our family piano went to a family with a young girl who loves playing (I sincerely hope they can get it tuned up ok!).
The piano was my Gran’s, my Mum learned to play on it, I learned to play on it too. Weekly lessons, practice 3 times a week, I spent hours and hours sitting in front of it. I started piano when I was 8 (I think) and stopped when I got to Grade 6 when I was 14. I wasn’t a natural, I worked hard, and today I have an electric piano that I will one day find space to set up so Jack can see it and hear me play. I hope it serves its new family well.
When I mentioned that I was about to get clear out my parents flat to a friend, he suggested it might bring me some closure and he was right. I didn’t think it would but not only is it a big admin burden removed (once we get through the sale and all the monies are divvied up etc), but just the emotional weight of it and all the contents and memories it held were sitting heavier with me than I realised.
I have hummmm’d and hawwww’d about what things to keep, what things to throw out, and while most of it will go I am digitising a lot of it (i.e. taking photos). So much of what I found over the past week will mean little to anyone but me now, I am the guardian of those memories.
And that’s ok, for they are rich and more full of love and happiness than I dared remember.
Clearing out my parents flat has helped me clear out some of the mental debris in my head too, I think. I feel lighter, and whilst I am still mourning my Mum and my wee sister, I feel like they have a place now. I say all this fully mindful that this idea of ‘having a place’ wasn’t something that occurred to me, but was suggested by the councillor I’m talking too. She pointed out that, specifically for Jennie, the grief just didn’t have a place. We mentally prepare that our parents will die before us, so we have space in our brains for things to help process that grief, but because Jennie was younger than me and “not supposed” to die before me, I didn’t have anywhere to put my thoughts, my anger, my sadness. I would pick it up and with nowhere to store it in my brain, I’d put it back down. Then spot it again and pick it up, put it down… repeat.
I felt trapped, unable to move forward.
Clearing out my parents flat has given me a good focus and cleared out space for Jennie too, and I can now think of her without the anger and confusion about her death itself, rather I’m sad that we won’t have more memories to build which feels like a more normal form of grief (if there is such a thing).
Not quite closure then, but a definite beginning of an end. Grief is not linear but it’s shape and it’s patterns have changed for me this past week, as hard as it was.
And so, we move on.
