The Wall

We recently had someone take down an old barn on our property. It was rundown and not safe to keep standing. It was filled with junk that was either rusted or rotted, broken glass from old doors, and spiders.
My husband contacted a man who dismantles old barns and salvages the usable wood and metal. He takes what is still good and sells it to the Amish who live in our area. They repurpose the materials into something new and beautiful. I’ve looked forward to coming home each day and seeing the progress the crew has made. At the start of the process, it was hard to tell that they’d done anything. Until one day, the walls were pulled down, 1x12s were stacked on a trailer, and we could see to the other side of our yard.

Last week I came home and found only this section of an inner wall still standing. And I want to keep it.

I don’t know why I want keep this wall. There is no emotional attachment to it. I never sat on a stool and watched my grandpa work on a tool that needed attention. I never played in the barn as a child. And yet, I don’t want to see it thrown into the dumpster with all of the other usable pieces at the end. It just seems too…important for that.

One of the hardest tasks to do when someone we love dies, or when we have suffered a loss, is to go through the belongings and decide what to keep, what to give away, or what to throw away. It’s difficult because these items remind of of the times we had with our person and our shared experiences. They remind us of what was but no longer is. We hold onto these things because we are afraid that if we let them go we will be letting go of our person, of what was. We can feel like we are betraying our person if we just let go of what was theirs like it was yesterday’s paper.

But we know we can’t keep everything. We know our person was more than the books they read, the furniture they sat on, or the clothes they wore. Yet, to let go of any of it can feel like we are losing our person all over again. We fear that, without these reminders, we will forget who they were and how important they are to us.

While I am not an expert on letting go, I want to share a few of the ways I make some of these difficult decisions.

• If it still makes you happy when you look at it, keep it.
  My grandpa went to Hawaii many years ago and brought back a muumuu for my mom. Both of them died several years ago, but I still have dress. It never gets worn anymore (At least not since Hawaiian Spirit Day in high school). But, it still makes me smile to remember Grandpa and Mom, so I keep it.

• If it’s a chance to share memories, keep it.
  Growing up, we had a lot of family gatherings at my grandparents’ house. Along with the regular drinking glasses, we would drink out of these goblets that somehow withstood fifteen grandchildren. I have six of these goblets now in my own cabinet. When we use them, I tell my children about Grandma Dorothy, family gatherings, and the tea that was always too sweet and a little too instant. Although my children never met Grandma and Grandpa, they are hearing their stories, and they being included in the memory making.

• If you know someone who will enjoy something, gift it.
  I know this one is hard. Part of the reason is because after we gift something to another person, they are free to do with the items as they wish. Our hope is that they will use it well. But we can’t make them. But, see this as an opportunity to tell the story. You don’t have to tell everything, but give the person receiving the item a peek into your person’s life - how did they use this thing, what memories do you have of them with it? And make sure to tell the person you’re giving the gift to why you chose them. It makes the gifting even more special.

• Don’t let go until you are ready.
  This is so important. There is no law that says you have to have everything sorted, donated, or gifted by a certain day. If you are not ready to let go of something, then leave it where it is, pack it carefully away, hold it. As the days, months, and. years pass, when you are ready, take a picture of the item, decide on the best place (or person) to gift it, and trust that they will hold it well.

My husband and I aren’t exactly sure what we’re going to do with that barn wall. He says it reminds him of a set for the theater, but he sees no reason to keep it. I envision us transforming it into a gardening work station. Perhaps the work crew has their own plans for it.
Whatever happens with those boards, they have served their purpose well through the years. They have seen many people come and go. They were a place of inspiration and frustration. They weathered the storms. Wherever they go next, their story is not over because I have been here.