Stuff

In what will come as a surprise to absolutely no one. When someone dies, you end up being left with a lot of stuff.

Now, obviously there’s the infinite amount of emotional baggage that you inherit, but I’m talking about the actual physical things that you are left with.

Almost the first question that needs to be addressed after someone dies is ‘what do we do with all their stuff?’. There’s likely stuff everywhere: clothes, knick-knacks, something in the fridge, books, the list goes on and on. Suddenly, all this stuff becomes ‘heavy’. Heavy with memories and burdened with purposelessness. A toothbrush abruptly loses all its function. It just sits there, unable to fulfill its duty, 9 out of 10 dentists agree.

In most people’s circumstances, there’s an added element of surreality in which this stuff is almost frozen in time. The moment of death is rarely known, so when someone does die, their spaces, and the stuff within them, are left frozen in their last moments. Laundry might be in the washer, dishes left out, or makeup not put away. For me, this is what I came back to when Julie was rushed into the hospital. Some sort of macabre museum to, what would become clear a few days later, the last actions she took on this earth.

So we end up back at the question, “what do we do with all this stuff?”. There’s likely going to be so much of it and it's now just sitting there. For me, this was deeply upsetting. I was left with countless things that now were going unused, wasted, and it really felt endless.

This leads to the unfortunate conclusion that some things just have to go to waste. I was left with multiple months' supply of contact lenses, endless bottles of nail polish, socks with holes in them, and many other things that just couldn’t be given away. Things that were only able to be used by her and can’t be used by anyone else.

So this then leads into the next step of, ‘what to do?’. What do you keep? Most things can be organized into 3 general categories: dispose, donate, keep. Each category with their own subsections and range of challenges.

Some stuff just needs to get thrown out. It feels so wrong to do this, partially because it feels like a waste, but mostly because each thing thrown out reinforces the harsh reality that they aren’t coming back, that no one is going to turn up and be annoyed that their stuff is missing. This process is painful, but that fades fairly quickly after the deed is done. The items were likely inconsequential, so their memory will fizzle away before you know it.

Then there’s donating. Most stuff will likely fall into this category. It’s the stuff that’s perfectly serviceable and could be used by others. The first pass through will be family and friends. People who will get use out of certain clothes, accessories or, in my case, the coffee machine. This was one of the more meaningful and rewarding parts. Knowing that family and friends would be able to take some sort of token or reminder of Julie’s life and that the item would continue to have a purpose. Anything not taken by others in this category gets donated to charity, the ‘everyday’ clothes that you know if you were to bump into someone wearing them, you wouldn’t immediately think “oh, that’s the thing they wore…”. These will at least hopefully provide some comfort that they will help others.

Finally, we get to the hardest one. The ‘Big Stuff’. The main type of Big Stuff are the items of which there is a strong emotional attachment to. This could be some particular pieces of clothing that were their ‘statement piece’ or a deeply personal item such as a diary. These items are the very essence of the person, they embody aspects of their personality, and represent (in the literal sense in the case of clothes) the fabric of their being.

For me, these were pieces of her  jewellery, some art work, and a handful of sweaters and dresses that Julie adored and would wear regularly. In particular, a bright orange knitted sweater that, as far as I’m concerned, she was the only person who could pull off that colour. It was also her bullet journals, labours of love and fastidious organisation where her creativity and talent shone for no one to see but herself. However, these items still, at the end of the day, sit there unused. I don’t know if I’ll keep them all forever, but I also can’t bring myself to throw them away.

It’s in this weird limbo where their purpose gets redefined. They function no longer ‘to be used’, but have morphed into a conduit for memories. That they act as a reminder of her essence while also being a tactile, physical thing, reinvents a new meaning and purpose for them. Whether or not this purpose remains the same forever is doubtful, but I guess that’s part of the process. This transformative act of establishing and building new purpose for these items is they key to ensuring things don’t feel like they are going to waste. The item continues to be useful, just differently than their creator had intended for them.

There is a subsection of Big Stuff. The Really Big Stuff (look, branding isn’t my strong suit…), but that will come in a future post. That’s a whole other dimension of upsetting that deserves its own space.

Stuff is such a huge part of loss. Things lose their meaning and purpose, only to go on and have those attributes redefined to become objects of memories. Some stuff will provide comfort, maybe immediately, maybe after an unknown amount of time. Some stuff will find new life with someone else, continuing their purpose and providing closure in knowing that they are being put to good use. Some other stuff will just be there. Not really knowing where it should go or what it might stand for. Loss is sad and trying to find meaning/happiness in everything associated with it is futile, some things will just remain as holes of sadness. Accepting this reality is where peace can lie.