Ticket stubs. Letters. Cards. Calendars. Programs. Coupons. Clippings. Receipts. Postcards. Documents. Photographs. Scraps of paper inscribed with handwritten notes or lists—some hopelessly illegible. Everything else relegated to be out of sight, out of mind until the mythical far-off day “when I have time.” Why have I felt compelled to save so much stuff over the years—much of it stashed in folders with labels overly specific or uselessly vague?

When my husband and I moved from Boston to Los Angeles ten years ago, we dragged along six bins of file folders and notebooks. Four of them are still shoved under my desk, taunting me. Why are they still here. One good (or perhaps lame) excuse: Because I’m a writer and I’ve promised myself: I’ll need this some day. I’m going to write about it.

Being close enough to smell the smoke as thousands of homes were incinerated here in Los Angeles, it was impossible not to think about all that could be lost in an instant. Inevitably, I ask myself: what I would save. I Iook around at all the furniture and furnishings, the closets jammed with clothing oddball special purpose equipment, games, puzzles, seasonal items and realize nothing is that important.

If our family if safe and we have managed to grab a few necessities: nothing in this house is important. It’s all expendable. So I decide to purge all that’s extraneous, starting with those bins of folders. And then I find out emptying those bins is no simple matter.

Of course, I have to look through the folders before throwing them and their contents away.

That’s where my troubles begin.

Let me illustrate.
I pulled out the first folder in the top bin. It’s labeled “Aunt Rosemary’s Papers.” My wonderful Aunt Rosemary, wife of my fabulous Uncle Joe, died in 2002. Rosemary and Joe were like second parents to my five siblings and me. No surprise then, that the papers I gathered up in the days immediately after her death were shoved into this folder. I didn’t want to look at them; it would make me too sad. I didn’t want to toss them away; doing so would just intensify the sense of loss. And besides I wasn’t quite certain whether any of them needed to be saved for some reason. Plus, surpassing all these other reasons: I thought of these papers as important because they would help me hold onto memories I might otherwise forget. In short, I didn’t want to let go of Aunt Rosemary’s papers because I didn’t want to let go of Aunt Rosemary.

So today, after all these years, I’ve opened the folder. What’s here? What’s worth keeping?

Evidence of Impending Doom

• Little slips of papers with notes scribbled on them–the detritus of a long illness and death jotted at the bedside by the person who keeps watch at the bedside, attempting to give comfort, offering/urging something to eat or drink, arranging blankets or pillows, taking away flowers that have faded faster than the dying person, arranging get well cards (for the person who will never get well). Fetching the nurse for more pain medication or a change of…something. Or just sitting quietly. And filling the room with love. That is the person who jots down instructions or reminders, and somehow those barely comprehensible jottings, make their way into the final folder. Crumple up. Then toss!

• Lists of phone numbers written on a note pad from the fuel oil company. Surely most of the people listed here are dead (except for me and my two younger sisters, whose number I know, of course). Toss.

• A 5 x 8 file card w names and addresses of people not nearby or names and phone numbers with a few notes about ailments. Relatives? Longtime friends? Toss.


DEALING WITH THE GRIM REALITY

• General Price List from C.C. Shepherd Funeral Service, accompanying a Statement of Funeral Goods and Services Selected (Total: $4,520). Toss.

• A photocopied page “SUGGESTIONS FOR FUNERAL MUSIC” with our choices circled and scibbled substitutions : Amazing Grace, On Eagle’s Wings(my sister Karen’s choice), Be Not Afraid (because Joe had a printed version he pulled from a pocket and read to Rosemary frequently in her final days), Ave Maria For, ForAll the Saints and Let There be Peace on Earth (those two especially appropriate for Rosemary). Do I need this piece of paper. No. I’ve just written down here all I need to know/remember. Toss.

• Copies of readings: I Corinthians 13 4-8 (Love is patient and kind) and the Book of Proverbs 31: 1014 20-2 and 25-32(The perfect wife—). I have more copies. Toss.

•A sheet titled Graveside Prayers

May the angels lead you into Paradise, may the Martyrs receive you at your coming and take you to Jerusalem, the hold city. May the choirs of the Angels receive you, and may you with the once poor Lazarus have rest everlasting. Amen.

May the Souls of all the faithful departed, thought the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

• Prayer for the Departed from the Book of Common Prayer (Yes, I snuck that in there.)

• Two different obituary notices, now yellowed with age. One from the Boston Sunday Globe, the other most likely from the Patriot Ledger. They tell that Rosemry was a caller and recruiter for volunteers for the American Cancer Society for 20 years, had previously worked in the audit department of Best & Co. in NYC [up until 1946]; was a poll worker for the town of Weymouth at the Union Street School; had been a member of the Ladies Auxiliary VFW Rockland Chapter and a parishioner of St. Francis Xavier Church. Oh, she was so much more. I don’t need these clippings. Toss!


THE IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH

• A typewritten list in alphabetical order list of (I guess) all the people who signed the guest book at the funeral home and a note about whether they send flowers…or left a spiritual bouquet. With handwritten additions (people who couldn’t be there but must have sent notes—or something). I’m sure we sent thank you notes to all of them. For writing thank you notes. Surely, half the people on this list are…dead. Plus, I have no idea who most of them are. Didn’t then. Don’t now. Toss.

• A handwritten list of things Rosemary wanted given to certain people: Her diamond ring, necklaces, Hummels, her mother’s gold locket, a bluebird and angel figurines, a wall mirror, a Swiss army knife and Uncle Joe’s military service medals. Mission accomplished. The list, long since irrelevant. Toss.

• An inventory of all the clothing we donated to Rosie’s Place, in my sister, Mary’s Anne’s handwriting. Looks like she assigned a modest dollar value to each (a tax deduction for the estate?). Why did we need this list in the first place? Who knows! toss

THE BUSINESS OF DEATH

• A Metropolitan Life Insurance policy $500 (20-Year Whole Life industrial Policy), purchased on June 1, 1943, when Rosemary was 27. The monthly premium $1.72. The Beneficiary. Her new husband Joseph Flynn, along with the Claim Form, redeemed 59 years later. A second policy also for $500 was paid up and redeemed. (Five hundred dollars must have seemed like a fortune in 1943!) Toss.

• Correspondence from Social Security notifying the grieving widower that he will receive a one-time final payment check of $255 and a gobbledygook explanation of why he will not receive widower’s benefits, with an invitation to “visit our website or call, write or visit any Social Security Office if he has any questions. He does not. Toss.

• More bureaucratic blah, blah blah. A letter from the Department of Veterans Affairs notifying Joe that his monthly disability compensation will be reduced. With a compassionate message (in all capital letters): THE EVIDENCE SUPPORTING THIS REDUCTION CONSISTS OF: A COPY OF ROSEMARY’S DEATH CERTIFICATE. WE ARE SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS. Then more double-talk about how removing his wife from his compensation award will cause an overpayment, which will generate yet another notification. Then something about a cost of living increase. Aargh! Toss!

OOPS!

• Past Due notice from the Readers Digest for Chesapeake Blue pre-ordered and shipped 1/03. By the time it was delivered Rosemary had been dead for a nearly three months. I never knew she was a fan of Nora Roberts’ novels. A reminder what was probably the only bill she didn’t pay on time. I don’t remember ever receiving the book or paying for it.

• Aunt Rosemary’s handwritten inventory of the Chinese Export “blue willow” plates, bowls and cups that remain from her mother’s 19th century unmatched set of kitchen dishes and a newspaper clipping entitled “Antique Appraisals” about The South Shore Art Center’s Appraisal Day …in Cohasset. A reminder that Rosemary had pondered the possibility that this chinaware might be valuable and could or should be sold. I still much of the collection; the pieces I didn’t keep, I shared with my sisters and cousins.

 

 

 

 

PHOTOS

• A 5 x 7 photo of Joe and Rosemary aboard “Sovereign of the Seas, St. Thomas”

Polaroid SX-70 photo of Joe & Rosemary October 2, 1982, at Ed & Anne Bartels 50th Wedding Anniversary celebration…happy/laughing…

MEMENTOES
• Original deed. In 1950, Joe and Rosemary, were pretty discouraged. They had been house-hunting for a while and had been unable find a home they could afford. “Why don’t you build a house nextdoor,” she suggested; indicating the large yard outside her kitchen door. And that’s what they did. An engineer was hired and instructed to make the lot as large as possible. I’m not sure how the deed for the land made it into this folder. I know it’s silly to keep it. Yet I can’t bring myself to throw it away. I decided on a somewhat ridiculous plan. But it’s my plan nonetheless and I’m going to stick to it. I’ve looked up the property online. As this deed indicates my grandmother transferred this land to Joe and Rosemary for less than one hundred dollars. The house they built on it sold, most recently for $616,000. I have the name of the listing agent. I’m going to send her this deed. She may decided to give it to the people who now own the house. Or keep it. Or toss it in the wastebasket. Somehow I don’t care. But I just can’t throw it away. So I won’t.

• Receipt from a travel agent– a carbon copy on onionskin. Listen to this itinerary:
Lei greeting in Honolulu. On to Kahului, Maui Airport and Royal Lahaina Hotel (3 nights)
Back to Honolulu and Waikiki Beachcomber Hotel (3 nights)
Pearl Harbor cruise, flight to Kauai Coco Palms Hotel (3 nights) and tour to Hanalei Valley. The total for all this was $245 (plus $17.52 tax).
How Long ago was this? (Sigh) And Toss!

• A letter from Rosemary’s cousin Charlotte (who surely must be dead by now) dated September 29, 1997, about The Bartels Cousins Reunion, which was “great.” A follow-up note (in response to a phone call) and enclosed photos of reunion attentdees. Today all this would have been transmitted in an email. Toss!

• Fiftieth Anniversary scroll. Computer-generated, I’m sure: 11 x 14-inch sheet embossed with gold header and silver scrolls and the title: “Our Wedding Day.” Somebody paid several dollars for Joe and Rosemary’s names to be printed in calligraphic script, the date and place of their marriage filled in atop standard listings: historic events that occurred on this date, headlines of the day, listings of currently popular radio shows, books, movies and songs, and trends. Toss. Or maybe ceremoniously feed through the shredder.

• Most poignant of all, photocopy of a death notice and prayer card: “Seaman Bartels Lost at Sea” Richard John Bartels. Missing in the Atlantic since June 19 on his first voyage. He had attended Public School 84, Astoria and St. Ann’s Academy, Manhattan, joined the Navy one month after graduation, at age 17. I have no other copy of the death notice. The prayer card is so well worn, it’s almost illegible. I cannot toss this paper way. Keep.


LESSON LEARNED

I do not need the scraps of papers with handwritten notes, the paperwork we needed for funeral planning (and paying), the documentation regarding insurance, Social Security and pension payments, the reminders of the book she never read, the dishes that were never appraised. No need to keep every single photo—only the best ones, which bring a smile when I look at them occasionally, the receipt from the travel agent (a quirky reminder of how far you could go on $275 many years ago). There is no point saving notes from and pictures of people who I never knew or a memento from a celebration I attended, remember well (I have pictures of Joe and Rosemary’s 50th Anniversary party; I do not need to save this somewhat silly scroll). I will send the deed with my grandmother’s signature on it off in the mail, unconcerned with whatever fate befalls it. And I will keep the Death Certificate…and the photocopy of Richie Bartels’ obituary, the only two things I can’t bring myself to discard. And someday, whoever goes through the papers I leave behind can throw them away. In fact, I need nothing to remember Aunt Rosemary by. Because she is still very much with me. She lives in my heart. And alays will.