My most recent column on this site was Feb. 20, six days before Jeff, my husband of 32 years, was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. It was our anniversary, Valentine’s Day.
We hoped and prayed for an optimistic prognosis. A week later, subsequent tests confirmed the unthinkable. Jeff died six months later, on Aug. 26.
Ten months earlier we lost Matt, our youngest son, to leukemia. Stunned. Shocked. Brokenhearted.
It explains why I haven’t written or worked for nearly a year. How I manage to put one foot in front of another, and not curl up in a ball and give up, has much to do with my faith in God and the value I have in life as a sacred gift. To live less fully would dishonor and discredit the lives that my courageous son and husband fought so valiantly to keep.
Few “Redesign” columns begin like this. Yet, life does go on. Ready or not.
When I last wrote, I was addressing clutter. I admonished and encouraged you to only keep what you love, to unbridle yourself from possessions by systematically clearing through every closet, cupboard and drawer until desired results were achieved.
Little would I know that, seven months later, I would have to do this on a much grander scale: to purge through nearly 5,000 square feet of accumulation from a 32-year marriage that raised three kids, and move into a house one-fifth that size.
The task at hand seemed impossible, yet I was prompted out of being unable to bear living alone in the place that held such a conglomeration of memories and experiences. I literally took on the role of an evacuee: I got out with my most prized possessions; the bare minimum. After that, I could hardly fathom the task at hand. Sifting through each closet, cupboard and drawer has been like walking an emotional minefield: making decision upon decision of what to keep, give away or toss.
I daydreamed that I could enlist the help of others, who would relieve me of this task. I even had other thoughts: that I wouldn’t care if I just walked away completely without looking back.
No such easy option is available, as no other person could possibly know the relative value of each item. A coffee mug bearing “California Adventure” and a cracked handle may look like garbage to most, but in my case, it was a mug Matt bought for me when his middle-school band played at Disneyland. That mug is among my most treasured possessions.
Many people have advised that I merely pack up all this stuff and put it in storage. No way. I have a particular peeve about storage units. Why is it, in a time when American homes tend to be bigger than the prior generation, are there so many storage facilities? What is being saved, for what purpose, and for how long?
Driving out Placer Road the other day, I noticed a mass of storage units, that, if had windows, would resemble a suburban village. All that stuff, just sitting there, often year after year. I see this preponderance for storage units perplexing. It’s like the ultimate junk room; stuff obviously not favored enough to live with. It’s common to hear storage renters admit that they no longer remember what it is they are paying each month to store. So, no, thanks, no storage unit for me. As you see, it would violate my own personal creed.
No living in my small house with “stuff” packed to the rafters, either. I’m finally making progress in this enormous task, as I donate each truckload to charity or the dump. Each item that has the honor of inclusion to my little bungalow in Garden Tract will have to pay the price of admission and answer this question: Do I love it?
Emerging is a life that is coming full circle with sweet memories of the simplicity in which Jeff and I lived in the early years of our marriage. This process, though at times excruciating, has me questioning why in the world we allowed ourselves to accumulate so much, with the realization that little of it had measure beyond superficial standards.
As I near completion of purging our behemoth house, what remains is a collection of belongings that serve as touchstones and reminders of our cherished life together. It also serves as a testament of an awareness that those I love will always be more important than where we live or the possessions we keep.
One caveat: A reward for personally going through my possessions was finding Jeff’s wedding band that had been missing for months, in’ of all places, a drawer of junk destined for the garbage. I consider it a Christmas gift from Jeff, and I wear it on a necklace chain with a popcorn charm. (Popcorn was Jeff’s favorite food.)
Next column, Behemoth house for sale: the importance of proper staging.
(Note from D&K: Jeff was an early Village Voices contributor.)
Shelly Shively grew up in Redding and attended its public schools, from Pine Street School to Shasta College. She is the mother of three grown children – a daughter and two sons – and grandmother to the planet’s most adorable baby girl. She is formally trained in the art of Re-design, and is IRDN (Interior Re-design Network). Shelly is an artist, illustrator and muralist. She can be reached at P.O Box 991568, Redding, CA, 96099 or shellyshively@att.net.
