A box a day

Since my grandma passed away, I've been accumulating a whole bunch of stuff. I always assumed the "natural order of things" included that by the time your parents are supposed to pass away, their children are going to be in a position to absorb the extra stuff, whether it be furniture, knick knacks, pictures or property. This ultimately leaves the youngest generation free of the unwanted (yet) stuff and the older with the fond memories of their dearly departed. Having assumed this stuff earlier in life than (I assume) most, the burden of stuff has fallen upon me.

After sorting through most of my grandma's things, throwing away 30 year old bank statements, newspaper clippings, hotel stationary and matchboxes, one thing became very clear to me. My grandma hadn't been in a position to absorb the extra stuff either. My solution to dealing with my grandmother's belongings thus far has been to box it up, put it in storage and deal with it later.

One of my favorite quotes is of Rabbi Hillel, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I. And if not now, when?"

This seems to be an apt reminder that throwing boxes into a closet for the future to deal with is not the most productive use of my future. No one else is going to do it, and if it doesn't get done now, then I'm left with unopened useless boxes, ignorant of their contents. So my mission for the next little while is to go through a box of stuff each day and see what I come across.


Today's box played a large part in even getting me to post about my endeavor. Today I had a box, with two smaller boxes inside of it, the kind you'd expect from a 1950's department store when they box up clothes for you. Inside the first box was nothing of interest. A ton of banking statements, tax paperwork, canceled checks, car load applications; all dated from before 1976. I had already shredded a bunch of other financial papers but these I simply tossed away considering my ssn wouldn't be on them and everyone else has passed away and had accounts closed by now.

The second box taught me a ton about my grandfather. Things I already knew: I am named after my grandfather; he died before I was born; he was the smartest man in the world; he was well mannered and well liked; he invented a new type of leather that probably existed in a car your parents owned; cancer was his diagnosis, along with my mom and grandma; he shaved alot but wasn't particularly hairy; he always dressed sharp.

What I hadn't known are the circumstances surrounding his death. He got cancer, mom got cancer, cancer just happens, cancer sucks. Apparently my grandma had no such opinion, cancer had a reason and someone was to blame. The second box was full of medical documents, newspaper clippings, letters from attorneys, doctors, and judges. After my grandfather died, my grandma went on a crusade to find the industrial chemical that my grandfather was exposed to and infected him with "the cancer". For a good year, my grandma had gone through medical journals making photocopies, compared chemicals my grandfather worked with against drugs used in his cancer treatment against all of the latest research at the time. It was an uphill battle, not knowing anything medical or chemical, but she fought. I have the box full of documents to show for it.

My grandma's notes are unfortunately useless. Apparently in college she took courses in note taking and becoming an executive assistant. Her notes are incredibly detailed and written extremely fast. They're also unfortunately written illegibly and in a language that only barely resembles English. Symbols stand in for words, sentences only three or four symbols long. This makes it incredibly difficult to make out the mundane. Prescription names and dosages, doctors orders and daily routines, all the regular things I could recognize for their intent, just not their content. The one thing my grandma never wrote in her particular scratch was how my grandfather felt. Between doctors orders written on backs of envelopes were sheets of holiday inn stationary describing in full detail the rash on his chest, color texture and pain level, his appetite, headaches, and all other potential pieces of data the doctor might find a cure in.

In these notes it was clear just how much my grandmother loves and adores my grandfather. The detail she could write about his condition is more than I could describe even about myself, let alone someone else. The amount of time she spent by his side, before and after his death, is simply amazing. It's a high standard to live up to for sure.

I'm just hoping that the next box I find will evoke as much of a response as this one had. At the very least though, it will be one less box of stuff hanging around. I've reduced the box to a few random newspaper clippings, letters from lawyers, doctors notes and a few bits of memorabilia. All fitting in one manila envelope. Yay.