I pried open the overstuffed file cabinet and found, amid tax returns from the twentieth century, a hanging file marked “Birth Certificates.” And there they were, the birth certificates for Ray Fred and Debi Briana. My mother’s Cabbage Patch dolls. My brother and sister, I guess.
My mother died three years ago, and my dad and his bride of six months moved to a cute cottage in the Evergreen Retirement Community. They took their bedroom furniture, their kitchen table, their clothes, some dishes and pots and pans and, well, that’s all. I told them I would be happy to clean out the house, and I was, and am, happy to do that. Truly.
I had bragged that, after all, we had sold our house and everything in it in a couple weeks. I told my dad’s sweet wife, “I’ll get it done in a day. I’ve got this.”
That was three weeks ago. And I’m not finished.
What happens when hoarding meets the Protestant Work Ethic and is all wrapped up in an ill-advised organization plan? My parents’ house, that’s what. I never realized while my mother was alive that she never threw anything away because she worked so hard at containing and organizing her stuff. If you walked in my parents’ house, which was decorated and organized mostly by my mother, you would probably not have suspected what was in drawers and behind doors.
But maybe the walls would be a clue. I never knew my parents’ walls were so desperately in need of paint because of the hundreds of pictures and artifacts hung on them.
a shadow box containing Bengal tickets from the first season in the new stadium; a numbered print of a kids’ pick up football game.
Some were treasured souvenirs: a boomerang from Australia; an iconic pointed hat from Vietnam; somebody’s third place ribbon for a 1923 Mill Creek Valley track meet.
Most puzzling of all was the 2’ X 3’ framed sepia tone photo of a stern looking couple that were presumably relatives. I asked my dad, “So who are those people anyway?” He said, “I don’t know. Your mother and I never figured it out.
Then there were dozens of certificates of “achievement,” the kind of achievements only money can buy: one each for Mom and Dad proving they’d been to the Arctic Circle; one for riding a helicopter; several for donating money to the U.C. Boosters.
And wreaths, maybe a dozen: three made from shells; one from peacock feathers; one with dried/crumbling eucalyptus leaves; numerous with clusters of dusty silk flowers. (In the garage here were three more wreaths, these for the Christmas season.)
So many counted cross stitch pictures: ones with scripture and aphorisms; pictures of cats and dogs they’d owned (these all look too angular to seem the least bit realistic); ones signifying anniversaries; ones I made for my grandparents that landed on my parents’ walls (the trickle down theory of inheritance).
Then there’s the salt and pepper collection, displayed in a custom-made wood shadow box: Salt rooster and pepper hen. Milkmaid salt shaker and farmer pepper shaker. Politically incorrect salt and pepper shakers: squaw and warrior; black faced mammy and pappy; squint-eyed Chinamen.
More collections: one hundred one-inch figures of people from various Vietnamese regions; thimbles from around the world and around the corner; spools of thread, a rainbow of colors 
on tiny dowels.
And the most curious framed collection of all, hanging above the pantry door, a collection of swizzle sticks from famous nightclubs in America. This from my mother who never saved a report card or award or dance program from my youth. (But, then, she was an alcoholic, sober for the last 23 years of her life. If my mom read this, she would laugh at the irony.)
And you might have suspected Mom’s saving obsession, looking at the windowsills and shelves and curio cabinets that housed glass thingies and whatnots: a miniature brass mariachi band, bud vases, Russian nesting dolls, paperweights, votive candles. Six plants, all mothers-in-law tongue (or is that mother-in-law tongues), probably cuttings from the same “parent,” planted in four mugs, one china rooster, and a pot my daughter made in art class twenty years ago. A half dozen ashtrays, even though nobody had smoked in this house for 25 years.
Off the walls and into the drawers . . . A huge 6-drawer dresser, the one Mom and Dad bought in 1949 when they got married, is filled with fabric: great swaths of gabardine, squares of felt, irregularly shaped pieces with long tails and circle cuts out, and lace from the dress my mom made for my junior prom in 1968.
Under the bathroom sinks: Grecian formula for men (my dad has been bald for a few decades); nail glue; dried-up shoe polish; wrinkle filler. Products for pooping and not pooping and pooping comfortably.
In the closets: a tuxedo; formal gowns; several dozen velour jogging suits; sweatshirts with patches from every state; t-shirts Mom had embroidered for every holiday. A full wardrobe for the concrete goose in shoe boxes, labeled by season. A leather goucho hat; high heels Mom’s bunions wouldn’t allow her to wear; thirty men’s belts in a variety of sizes.
In the pantry: a hoard of incandescent lightbulbs (instead of those curly ones the tree huggers sell); ; “green” cleaning solution (go figure); defogging liquid for eyeglasses and windshields; cat urine neutralizer; jars of fancy salsa and olives (gifts from me, probably); Tupperware turned yellow and brittle.
In the garage: three aquariums; fishing, golf, and baseball gear; a meat smoker; two hand-held steamers; six brooms.
I learned a lot from this experience, beyond the physical limitations of my 63-year-old body.
- When your parents say, “We need nothing,” they are probably right. But we keep buying them stuff– why, I don’t know. To show our love? To assuage our guilt for not calling enough? Because it’s “what you do”? If I had it to do over again, I would have skipped the gifts and spent time with them instead.
- Your parents may seem independent and self-sufficient, but it could be that they need your help. When I had all of their mildewed, rusted lawn furniture hauled away, I realized they probably had not sat on it for years. I mean, who would want to? They needed someone to power wash that stuff every year. And by “someone,” I don’t mean an octogenarian.
- The prodigious detritus of life can be crushing. I don’t think there is any way my parents could have thinned out their stuff,and I am sure while they were living among it, they wouldn’t have wanted me to plow through it either. And if I am lucky enough to live another twenty-five years, I will be the same way.
Cleaning out your parents’ home can help you achieve closure. By touching all these things my mother touched and filed and hung and arranged makes me feel like I am touching her. I am relieved that there have been very few surprises (aside from my “sister” and “brother” Cabbage Patch dolls’ cetificates of “birth”), but there have been reminders of all my mother was and cared about.
- What may seem like junk to you, may be valuable. An antique cherry pitter is worth $100. Three mid-century modern stack tables must be worth far more than the $15 I sold them for because I had five offers in as many minutes. And those vases with the RR on the bottom? Rookwood, worth up to $500. (Cowan’s Auction
$500? Really?
emailed an appraisal in a couple days, no cost, no obligation. They are going to auction the three items for me.)
- You can rent a dumpster. And you should. When there is a dumpster, everything suddenly looks like trash. It’s much easier to get rid of an orange vinyl couch when there is a huge rubbish receptacle stationed in the driveway. (I highly recommend Bin There Dump That) And yet . . .
- . . . you may feel disloyal pitching things your parents valued and loved. I’m not sure there’s any way to prevent that. It just is.
- Don’t harp on your parents about getting rid of stuff. They can’t and they probably don’t want to. It’s what gives them comfort and something that can remain the same when their bodies are falling apart and their friends are dying. This cleaning out is YOUR job, it just is.
- Stop judging. Stop it! My children won’t figure out why I am saving a chocolate microphone my friend gave me after I did stand up. Or my daughter’s baby spoon that she still used in her teen years to eat her yogurt. Or my deceased friend’s eyeglasses and steno pad. Or my mother’s nearly empty bottle of L’Origan perfume, her red, red lipstick, her eye mask, and her license plate. Your stuff is your stuff, and you have every right to keep it.
- You will never stop missing your parents. You will always be their child.
My friend Stella was 95 when she died. She had no children, so I kind of became her daughter. I was the executrix of her estate. Her home was filled with antiques, thing she frequently reminded me were valuable. She said, “When I die, don’t give my antique furniture to my cousin. She’s too fat.” (Stella was legally blind and apparently didn’t realize I was too fat, too.)
After Stella died, her cousin did want the furniture (and the jewelry and the paintings . . .) I had an appraiser come in to assess the value of the antique furniture. “It’s junk,” he said. But to Stella, it was valuable and she liked it.
I gave all the precious antique furniture to her fat cousin. (See #7, above)
Post Script: Since writing this post, I have cleaned out two more family homes. When Rick and I cleaned out my 97-year-old mother-in-law’s house–where she lived for 69 years–I used two more services I wanted you to tell you about.
We donated almost all of Mrs. Lingo’s furniture to St. Vincent de Paul. We scheduled the pick up, and that day they called with a one-hour window. They arrived on time and worked efficiently. They took almost everything! The Cincinnati number is (513) 562-8841
I highly recommend 1-800-GOTJUNK. My mother-in-law’s house has three floors. On the top floor we had 4 old televisions, 3 sets of mattresses/box springs. In the basement there was a dishwasher, 2 army footlockers, an exercise bike, several rusty cabinets, and boxes and boxes and more boxes of dishes, silverware, coffee carafes, ash trays, trophies . . . well, you get the picture. There was a big screen tv (the kind that looks like it’s wearing a backpack) and another bed on the first floor. The garage had a mountain of garbage bags, tools, and small appliances. GOTJUNK arrived on time, concluded that they would fill two trucks, and in about an hour and a half, cleaned out the house. It cost about $1,000, and it was worth every penny!
Copyright © 2016 Sandy Lingo, All Rights Reserved
Before we moved my mother-in-law to an assisted living apartment, we ask her if she wanted to help clean out the attic. She so politely said “No, you get to do that when I’m gone.” We waited for her to move, then my daughters and I attacked the house just like you did. We laughed and cried over things she kept. Most of all we just miss her now that she has died.
It isn’t an easy thing, but mostly I felt that it was an opportunity to know my parents more intimately.
Sandy, I love your understanding and comments that we not push our parents to clean out and get rid of their “stuff” when they are older. So much sentiment and meaning can be tied up in the things we save. And as much work as it is for those cleaning out the homes, you remind us clearly of the emotional reward that is there–if we will accept it–as we work intimately with what was left behind.
As you and several others mentioned, I do feel sorry for my own kids, when they face going through so much stuff that I’ve saved, both intentionally and “unintentionally.” (Read: The stuff I threw in a bag and stashed in the closet before company came, some of which never really gets “un-stashed!) What a good reminder to me, too.
Thank you, Sandy!
Oh, the mystery hide-from-the-company bags! That’s the impulsive behavior that sabotages my organizational plan! Thanks for reading and responding.
What a journey and what a gift to your kids that you already did your major clearing so they don’t have to.
Every day after cleaning out my parents’ house, I went home and cleaned out mine! Good seeing you the other day.
My father and his 3rd wife called 2 years ago to say they had decided to move to a senior’s residence. My 3 siblings and I were summoned to help with the move. It took all 4 of us almost 2 months to work our way through their 4500 sq ft house (that didn’t include the barn). On the 1st day we took 35 boxes to the Salvation Army store. It wasn’t just my mother who kept every single item that passed through the portal of their home. My father had collections of things that dated farther back than the last century. It seems his 2nd and 3rd wives also had a need to surround themselves with their beloved keepsakes.
I wonder if this penchant for collecting had more to do with creating a familiar environment, a way of recording their lives, a way of preserving what was, and protecting themselves from the uncertainties of a life disturbed by wars, technology, reliance on machines over relationships, and all the transitions and trials of a century’s worth of living.
My father died last year at age 94, a little over a year from the time he made the his last transition from his home to the residence. He is survived by his 3rd wife who rents a storage unit to hold the overflow of the possessions she is unable to part with. Her request to us was to clear my father’s personal things out of the closets and chests of drawers to make room for more of her things. We found brand new shirts and ties, undergarments and socks, new slippers, sweaters, vests and trousers, that had never been worn – gifts we had given him over the last few years of his life. Untouched and stored out of sight. In full view were the thread-bare cardigans, the slippers worn through from years of shuffling, the old cane with a worn out rubber tip. The familiar.
My husband and I would like to think we won’t leave so much “stuff” for our children to sort through when it’s time to go. We have decided to “bin” the things that have zero value or relevance to the children and leave instead some “treasures” for them to discover. Personal letters to each one of them letting them know how much they are loved and how proud we are of each one of them. Words filled with hope and blessing for their futures.
We have impressed on them that we no longer need “things”, but a phone call, a visit, a family get together brings us far more joy than any ornament, or new “toy” ever could. And when they do visit, if there is a family heirloom they would like, it’s theirs for the keeping.
Thank you for sharing Sandy. This was a fun trip down memory lane.
What a beautiful response! Thanks so much for reading and responding. Your words are treasures to me. I love the idea of writing personal letters for the kids to discover.
I love the idea of leaving treasures to discover in the future. We WILL be using that idea.
I keep thinking I need to get rid of so many things–my own as well as the sentimental treasures I inherited when mom and dad died. The problem is my children don’t want any of it. Not even photos of themselves. Some of the things are family history and I don’t want to just donate or dump them–but they aren’t special to anyone but Holly and me. Your piece touched my heart. But I need to go to the basement and purge. My kids will not look upon this task as kindly and with the interest as you did.
How did I miss this one? Just read it today and LOVE it, Sandy. I worry about mother’s beloved Lladros (did I spell that right? insipid pastel (overpriced) knick knacks from Spain). There’s NOTHING I want from her home, sad to say. As for all my crap, I hope my son just pulls up a dumpster when I go, but he’s a bit of a hoarder. His wife (please, God, may there be one soon) will have to wrestle him to the ground to keep him from moving the entire contents of my home into the basement of his own.
This is a very interesting and emotional read, thank you for sharing this. I did the same for my late sister’s room. I am planning to do the same for my older sister’s room, who passed away a couple of weeks ago. Since she has tons of stuff, I think working with a professional in house cleaning after death is a great idea. What do you think? I believe going through all of her things will make me feel as if she’s beside me all over again.
This has been a very insightful and helpful site. I have my mother’s things, including a bed side table, which is in the basement and I don’t use it ,although it is very nice. She kept things in such excellent condition. I have tried to put dishes etc. into boxes and label them but with my things it feels like my house is very full. I am on my own, and never had children. She bought such lovely things I don’t know how to part with them and she has been gone now for 10 years. I even have the dress she wore to my wedding, so very many years ago. Any suggestions, how I can deal with this situation. The idea of writing letters to your children is so kind and thoughtful. After my mother died, I looked everywhere, in every box and drawer hoping she had left me a letter. It would have helped me through a very difficult time of grief.
Hi, my Mother died in June 2019 after going into a nursing home. It took me over six months to clear her home (rapidly becoming clear that nothing had been thrown out despite a move four years before!). Some of it went to friends and plenty to charity. I even sold some of it on eBay! But what I really wanted to say although I felt terrible doing this while she was alive, I was so pleased to have a letter from her (with her will) telling me not to be sentimental about her things and I think all parents should leave a letter for their offspring letting them know that it is ok to dispose of stuff without having a great guilt trip. It made me feel better during the most difficult period of my life. I wish you had found a letter from your Mother. X
When my parents moved to an assisted living home; they helped with some of the clean up. Then my brother and I did most of the rest. My daughter decided to rent the house and since my parents had watched her most of her life while I worked; it was home to her. She kept some things and lived among the others. Finally it came time to clean the house out and sell it. We thought it wouldn’t take long-boy were we wrong! Took us about 2 months!!. Mom had secret places she hid things-$200 in a cookie tin!. We had to open everything. When we finally were finished we used; Everything but the House (EBTH). They came through, decided what could sell, what wouldn’t-threw away stuff in a dumpster. Took the items to sell to their warehouse. Online bidding. Some things we thought we didn’t get much for; while others sky rocked! They do take a percentage; but we got a check in the end and everything is gone except what we wanted. Very hard to do.
By the time my mother-in-law died, I had cleaned out two of my parents’ houses and was much less sentimental. I kept almost nothing. 1-800-GOTJUNK was a godsend. It is, after all, junk. That said, I put $2400 of Mom’s Waterford Crystal for sale on EBTH website. Once they took their percentage, I got less than $100 for all the crystal. I was sick about it, just because it had meant so much to my mother and I had basically just thrown it away.
Thank you for this article. I’m cleaning through my dad’s house for a second time, and things don’t get easier over time. Your article made me smile, and I love that you included your own pictures. And OMG there should be a law capping the number of wreaths and wicker baskets one person can own.
My biggest piece of advice though: if the house isn’t going to be emptied out immediately, you must keep the lights and water on and – this is huge – pay for an exterminator. I’m now fighting termites and roach poop. And wicker baskets.