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My Life in Shambles
It was a thought-provoking question, but the answer is anything but simple. I’ve always been a collector of things—some might say a hoarder. I save everything, just in case. Just in case of what? Do I really need a tax return from 1995? A light bill from 1993? Or proof that I visited the eye doctor back in 1997?
My daughter dove into the shredding task. Vvvrrr. The sound was music to my ears! But then I noticed something—a letter addressed to my husband, “Dear Mike, We are pleased to inform you that your student loan has been settled.” Ah, I remembered when he sat at our kitchen table in our first apartment, writing that check.
“Here,” I said to my daughter. Vvvrrr.
I watched her shred away, paper after paper. What else lay in that pile? Just a few minutes in, I couldn’t help but interrupt.
“Wait!” I exclaimed.
A mess of receipts sprawled out before me. One was for copies made at a local store; another was for faxes sent from the pharmacy. Seriously, who even faxes anymore? I picked up a bill with a preschool’s name on it, and memories began to flood back—dropping off my little one, bending down to give her a tight hug before she walked into class. Now, it’s me who has to reach up for a hug.
“Can I get back to this?” my daughter asked, clearly eager to continue.
“Soon.”
Oh! A check stub for $303, won from a radio contest when I answered the question: “What never stops growing?” Answer: “Your nose.” And then I found a pay stub from the trade magazine I worked at in my late twenties. My boss had thought I’d like a reporter she knew and set up an interview at a press conference. Two years later, Mike and I were married. The job was demanding, the pay was low, and the environment was filled with secondhand smoke—but I found a wonderful husband through it all.
Nearby, a faded receipt from the vet for our tabby cat who passed away 12 years ago caught my eye. Next to it, a receipt from the SPCA for the adoption of a tiny kitten just six weeks later.
So many papers! What should I keep? Then it hit me, what if I wasn’t around and left all this clutter behind? Would anyone care? Would I want someone to sift through each piece of paper to decide its importance?
That thought brought me down, so I redirected my focus to the present. Right now, I convince myself, as long as these papers stay, so do my memories. Each time I glance at one, it’s like freezing time, just like when I look at a photograph and am instantly transported back to that moment. I’d never part with my pictures, but the paper trail is overwhelming, and it’s time to declutter.
“Mom’s at it again!” my daughter shouts to Mike as she eyes the mountain of documents, waiting for her $5 payment.
“Okay,” I reply. “You can take these.”
Vvvrrr.
But just as she starts shredding again, I snatch the remaining pile, clutching it to my chest to prevent any from falling as I walk away. Maybe the next time I feel the urge to declutter, these papers will finally meet their fate in the shredder. But for now, I’m holding onto them—and the memories they hold—a little while longer.
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Summary:
In this light-hearted reflection, Sarah Johnson shares her struggle with clutter and the memories tied to various documents she has saved over the years. As her daughter helps with shredding, Sarah finds herself torn between the need to declutter and the desire to hold onto tangible pieces of her past. Ultimately, she realizes that these papers are more than just clutter; they represent cherished memories she isn’t quite ready to part with.