Death has always been a strange thing to me because it never feels real.
I blame my parents for this, just like I blame them for all my other bad coping mechanisms…like my inability to take complete responsibility for my life. Thanks a lot Mom and Dad. Definitely your fault.
Since I moved so much as kid and since I was never particularly good at staying in touch with people, a lot of times I would leave a place and never see a person again. That was just normal. I still loved and cared about them, I just didn’t see them and that was ok. Now whenever someone I know dies, I think “It’s fine, they just moved.”
But you know what does feel painfully real to me every time someone I know
All of their stuff.
Over the past couple of years, I have had a few close relatives
die move. And they always move without taking any of their stuff with them because it’s true, you can’t take any of it with you. And because I also have a hard time saying no (thanks a lot mom!) I always end up helping pack/sort/clean their houses/apartments/rooms.
And the thing is, once you take out the journals and pictures and maybe a few other things it really is just stuff. Yes, sometimes people attach emotional significance to these random things and “need” them but you know what I have to say to that?
You’re not throwing away the person, you’re just throwing away the things!
So, on this super official platform, I figured I would tell you what to do with my stuff when I
die move – just burn it, ok?
Because I would much rather you remember me by having an epic bonfire that you all dance around with painted faces than you add my stuff to your stuff that someone else will inevitably have to clean up when you
die move too.