Tom loved building things, especially tables, which he admitted he enjoyed. Nothing fancy, just plain, often unattractive desktops. One sat outside our converted garage for years. This table was very comfortable, but it was built from untreated wood, and after decades in the elements, the wood began to rot.
The table was listed a few years ago because the wood had softened and disintegrated. I wasn’t ready to give it up –Tom built it– So a friend and I put screws and nails to fix it. It recently fell apart beyond repair and I had to part with what was left of it. He pulled over to pick up a bulky piece of trash.
Of course, it wasn’t just getting rid of a rotting old wooden table; he let go of another small part of Tom.
The big wooden box he built in the yard is also on its last breath. It also got a reprieve with some new screws, but now it’s starting to fall apart. I’m thinking about converting my fireplace back to gas, so this box will be unnecessary for the foreseeable future. (“My fireplace” still sounds strange. It was ours for a long time).
The plexiglass roof that was hanging to keep the squirrels from the bird feeders finally came down. A piece is still leaning against the fence that you see every day. I don’t plan on rehanging it, but it still sits. I’ll get over it eventually.
The socks she gave me – gift socks were a “thing” for us – were thin, with holes. I wear them as much as possible. I should have stopped wearing the slippers she gave me, but they still mold in my closet. They have to go. One day.
This is the passage of time. It’s been six years since Tom died. The past gathers dust.
And so you let go
I gave up on most of his music collection. (Unlike his music, it was a fun exercise to decide what I liked.) I sold his truck. It took me a few years to part with many of her clothes and I still keep a few that I still wear and have. The hardest thing I want to prepare will be selling his music equipment. It takes up a lot of space in the garage and I’m sure I won’t need it anymore, which makes me very sad. It is not useful nostalgia.
I release Tom’s remains on Earth, one disk, one rotting table. It is an emotional process.
I take pictures of things before I leave. I took pictures of him loading the lawnmower into the van and driving the truck on a flat bed. They say that seeing a photo of a sentimental item activates the part of the brain that sees the same thing itself. But can it be so satisfying? There is something surprising about holding the real thing.
Yes, the feelings caused by the things left behind are complicated. It is very difficult to get rid of them. They are the real proof that Tom was here; they hold his fingerprints DNA. They are strong.
But I don’t need them all.
Things cannot remain static
It takes a while to fully understand that holding onto something doesn’t bring a person back. But there comes a time when you have more reasons to let go than to hold on. You need space. It doesn’t work anymore. You’re just tired of looking at old and outdated things, metaphors for the passage of time. After a while, practicality wins after sentimentality. And the truth is, every time I let something go, it feels like growth. Making room in my life for what I want to happen next.
Besides, I have much better sentimental things to do than a rotting old desk. I always wear Tom’s pullovers. It’s like they’re hugging. I also do things that they do more than I do, like keeping beer mugs in the fridge. I don’t drink beer, but I like to offer my friends a cold mug of beer. This is also Tom’s monument.
I have made changes to the house since he left. The bathroom is painted. A screened porch was built. The garden is planted. Sometimes I wonder if I would have done these things if he was alive. Little by little I’m taking full ownership of the house I share. He’s in the DNA of this place: his artwork is everywhere and he’s framed almost everything on the walls, and I don’t want to part with any of it. But my life cannot be a museum. Also, things wear out, break, cease to be useful.
Letting go is a process. Things matter until they don’t, and with each thing I let go, I take another step into a reinvented life. I always take Tom with me, but I don’t need what he leaves behind.
