sometimes, i can be a pack rat. i like to keep things like cards, pictures, and letters from friends and family. i love receiving mail, and when i get it, it always gets stored away in a special hat box designated for special things like letters. when i feel bad, it’s a nice reminder that i really do have friends and family who care.
in that hat box, i have the small scrap of receipt my husband wrote his phone number on the first time i met him. (he was at work at the time) i have the receipt for my wedding dress, my tattoo, and every card that was attached to every bouquet i ever received. i also have odd things, like little stones my husband brought back from a geology convention when he was in school, flattened coins from his first days working on the railroad, and a pack of cards with several cards missing that we used to throw at each other when we got bored before we had children running at our feet.
i also have a bunch of letters i’ve gotten from friends. i have pictures from friends, and just about every card i’ve given to my husband over the years. i have a few from him as well.
today, i realized there was no point in keeping those things. the letters are out dated… the issues layed out by my friends and family no longer exist. half those people don’t even talk to me anymore. the little notes i used to leave on the counter for my husband all say the same thing, and get redundant when viewed all at once. why am i keeping them? once a sentimental object fails to evoke sentimental feelings, keeping it becomes pointless. those letters, pictures, and objects become nothing more than junk collecting dust.
so today i got rid of it.
i still kept a lot of stuff, but i said goodbye to twice as much. the only sappy love letter i kept was the one i hand calligraphied to my husband. the only letters i kept were the ones my brother sent me from Iraq. i kept the bouquet cards (i only have 3) and i kept various knicknacks that mean something to me. the only greeting cards i kept are the ones that my son made when he was still in diapers.
in a way, it’s bitter sweet to see the pile of stuff i kept. it’s less than half of what it used to be, which means that all that stuff from all those people have become meaningless, because they’re out of my life now. it’s also bitter sweet, because i know that some day my family will go through that pile and none of it will mean anything to them. they will chuck it out with my clothes, my furniture, and my worthless jewelry after i die. what’s the point in keeping it? what’s the point in sentimentality at all? keeping the receipt that my husband wrote his phone number on the day i met him, won’t change my life it all. it won’t make it better, it won’t make it worse. i won’t forget it just because i don’t have it taking up space in my house anymore. why can’t i let it go?
eh. does it really matter? no. sure, it’s one more box to move the next time we move. the urge to clean up will probably hit me again in a few years, and i’ll take the plunge… forever sparing my children the bother of having to do the job for me.
what drives people to be sentimental? i try not to get excessive about it. last year, my MIL handed my husband a duffel bag absolutely stuffed with every single card he’d ever received throughout his childhood. was it interesting? no. most of them said nothing more than “i love you, love, mom”. it was utterly ridiculous. he didn’t care, i didn’t care. we threw it away when she wasn’t looking, and at that point i vowed to myself not to go overboard with the ridiculous sentimentality. my son and my daughter know i love them. they don’t need sappy, cheap greeting cards saved up 10 times a year since the year they were born to tell them that. at least, that’s what i tell myself every time i get the urge to write them something, or save something that is just going to collect dust until they’re old enough to care.
that doesn’t stop me as often as it should… every year during my children’s baby/toddler hood i’ve written them letters in their birthday cards, and saved them in their baby books. i still have the first outfits my children wore. i have the little hats they got in the hospital, and throughout the years i’ve written funny little stories, or just notes of love on the pages of their baby albums.
i can’t help it.
i really am just a sentimental fool. i know that when i give my children their birthday cards from birthday’s 1-5 (at 6, my son wanted to actually get his cards, so i stopped writing the letters in them) they’ll pretend to be interested. i say “pretend” because the gist of the letters say “i love you” and they already know that. but i like to be prepared, and in case i’m not around in 10 years to read them their birthday cards, i want to make sure they know exactly how their mama felt about them.
in the end i guess it doesn’t really matter what other people feel about the sentimental junk i keep around. when it passes into someone else’s hands, i will be no more than dust, and dust doesn’t care if it’s receipts get thrown away.