One evening a friend called me. "The time has come," she sobbed into the phone and disconnected. I picked up my jacket and jerked towards it. We agreed for a long time that as soon as she was ready to cross the threshold of the parental apartment to start cleaning there, she would call me. And, apparently, the time really came.
Photo:Getty ImagesHer parents died a little over a year ago, but my friend still couldn’t bring herself to return to her parents’ house: “You see, everything there reminds me of my mother and those happy days when my father taught me to withstand difficulties. Besides, their things are there, what can I do with them?” Of course, I offered to help her, because it would be easier for the two of us to sort through the piles of things that had been accumulating in the tiny apartment for years, but she kept refusing. When I arrived, my friend was leaning against the wall in the hallway, holding a photo album in her hands and lovingly shaking the dust off the yellowed photos. “You know, my parents were avid travelers, they couldn’t sit at home for a day. We have accumulated a lot of interesting things, memorable souvenirs and, of course, photos that they brought from different countries. And those gloves? Mom loved them so much. If I had my way, I would leave every single thing, but alas, I can’t.” I glanced around the apartment, which had fallen into disrepair after the owners passed away, and nodded slowly. No, of course, I understand that memory is above all else, but there’s no room to even stand here because of the large number of memorable, but already old and unnecessary things. We need to free up the apartment as quickly as possible to breathe life into it and fill it with energy. Having weighed all the pros and cons, she decisively dialed the number of handymen who agreed to take out the trash as soon as we sorted it. The hardest part remained. There were piles of garbage bags on the floor, into which it was necessary to put the precious moments of the lives of people who were no longer there. We carefully sorted the things into different piles, leaving works of art, jewelry, books and paintings. The rest, in my friend’s opinion, was not so saturated with memories and could be safely removed. She looked through each item, carefully folded the clothes and, with tears in her eyes, put them away in boxes. She left only a few accessories for herself that would remind her of her mother. Having put everything else into trash bags and boxes, her friend carefully checked everything again. “You know, I realized that all these things only steal valuable space and do not allow you to move freely around the apartment. And my parents will forever remain in my heart, regardless of whether all this junk is lying here or only bare walls are left,” - having put the last Chinese vase in a bag, her friend decisively threw the trash out the door. And really, why surround yourself with unnecessary junk, convincing yourself that it reminds you of loved ones. In fact, these are just excuses and an unwillingness to take responsibility and sort out what is truly important from the unimportant. By the way, she did only cosmetic repairs, leaving some memories of the place where she spent her carefree childhood. But it is worth admitting that after such a global cleaning the room seemed to become larger and no longer resembled a gloomy warehouse of forgotten things.
