Springing Ahead

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

I have rarely sipped the spring-cleaning Kool-Aid, but this year I had a sudden, irrepressible urge. One of my triggers was an old file cabinet. Placed in our garage “a few years ago” to make room somewhere else in the house for heaven knows what, this piece of office furniture has continually hindered entry and exit into the passenger side of my vehicle. So, as winter waned and my annoyance bloomed, I deemed it necessary to (finally) address the cabinet’s contents and either donate or relocate said steel monstrosity.

Opening the drawers yielded the profound musk of the past – along with the detritus from an army of prior rodent tenants. Faced with myriad folders and files in preparation for sorting and shredding, I had my work cut out for me.

Despite the tedium, slogging through the mud of old financial documents was revealing. There were a several “Oh Shit” moments; rediscovering how much personal information existed on good old paper statements from back in the day; and realizing with embarrassment how long these sensitive documents had hung out in our “secure” garage. By all appearances, only the field mice had been privy to our doings; if any other varmints had access, Mother Nature was keeping mum. 

A large portion of the filing cabinet served as an analog time capsule of my husband’s and my personal finances from the beginning of our union to the not-so-distant past. The task rekindled an immense appreciation for the efficiency for modern digital record keeping. Once the papers were reviewed with hubby (and good ‘ole IRS guidelines), I happily shredded most of the lot. Two things immediately happened: 1) we felt enormously lighter and 2) I killed the shredder. Cogs, teeth, and motor lumbered over the Rainbow Bridge in a huff of smoke and electrical aromatherapy. 

Undaunted, a new shredder took on the rest of the contents of the cabinet. This is where things got interesting, not from a data standpoint but as an emotional crucible. 

I knew copies of both sets of our parents’ medical records resided in these files. My complexly ill progenitors spent lengthy visits with us. If anything happened in our locale, we had detailed summaries to avoid reciting their long rap sheets should they need medical care, which they often did. My in-laws also sported nasty health issues that we kept track of. We clearly did not need this information anymore – all the forebears had passed. Being the nurse in the family and medical Power of Attorney, I expected ridding ourselves of this next load of paper to be simple and straightforward. It was anything but. 

Perusing past handwritten health histories from our parents about their family medical histories offered up a few closeted skeletons that I had either forgotten about or hadn’t known in the first place. Answers to nagging questions was also part of the equation: a surgical summary (at least on paper) professed a life-saving safety measure was indeed in place during my mother’s carotid surgery –her subsequent stroke having stoked my curiosity at the time. But reviewing these past operative notes also triggered the intense emotional rollercoaster of watching fragile elderly undergo enormous procedures and cheat death.

We all know that children do not come with how-to manuals; neither do aging parents. As a healthcare provider, pragmatic knowledge of the circle of life is just how I roll. Advocating and caring for my parents had, indeed, been exhausting and one hell of a ride, but I adequately processed all this several years back after their passing.

Or had I?  Now, an unexpected wave of emotions powerfully resurfaced and I was seized by a bone-chilling horror. “Yes,” I tried to assure my fear-ridden self, “I’m only shredding paper we don’t need anymore.” “No,” Fear insisted, You’re obliterating your parents’ memory!” Overcome by the profound grief and guilt that enveloped me, I slumped to the floor and wept. 

***

Maybe I just needed the outpouring of tears and the healing silence that ensued to reach some semblance of equanimity. Or maybe, it was a nudge from The Beyond that it was not only okay, but truly necessary to let all the angst go for good. Perhaps it was simply time to lay our begetters’ hauntingly arduous medical pasts to rest, to allow them and us kids the gift of remembering only the good times -and with that, more peace. Then much like winter into spring, a lightness and warmth surrounded me. I had turned an important corner. 

Letters and cards from the deceased, lovingly saved over the years, were not-so-ironically the next items to go through. Grief is a process that shape-shifts over time, so I called it a win to simply read them, smile, and carefully place them back in their respective folders. 

A day passed, and with renewed fortitude I pressed on, continuing to work the new shredder to what I hoped would not be its limits. Thankfully, the rest of the filing mess was trivial and easily discarded. In the end, we had six garbage bags of shredded paper, enough to help fuel the fireplace for the remainder of winter, not to mention a few spring outdoor firepits. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We had clearly done our part to perpetuate the circle of life. 

That old file cabinet was bursting at its seams with joys and heartache, chronicling who we were and what we had become, from couple to family, to sandwich generation, and finally, to empty nesters. 

Once cleaned and refreshed, the old storage locker took up residence in the basement Man Cave, its hanging files now offering information about tools and woodworking, sans rodents. 

Pandora’s Steel Trap held a complicated historic cache, now gracefully culled, with past stresses now peacefully laid to rest. Only the best memories remain as we spring ahead unencumbered. Closure is a powerful elixir. Spring cleaning got me there, one file at a time.