Now there’s procrastination and then there’s my brand of procrastination. Here’s what I mean: my Dad died almost two years ago and shortly after the funeral my two siblings and I spent a brief and miserable evening sorting out his ‘things’. He was monklike in his approach to possessions and so there was very little to distribute and dispose of really (a seriously large and diverse collection of rosary beads being the exception).
After carefully selecting some ‘keepsakes’ to be distributed to his grandchildren (a decision made by parents whether said grandchildren want the keepsakes or not), most of what he carefully gathered and guarded over his 91 years on planet Earth was, not to put too fine a point on it, rubbish.
So where’s the procrastionation in that? I hear you ask, although I didn’t mean to put words in your imaginery mouth. That’s true because that evening took place no more than a week or so after the funeral. The procrastination comes in when I, in a rare moment of nostalgia, rescued one heavily laden cardboard box from the ‘dump without even exploring’ pile and when all of my Dad’s ‘treasure’ was dealt with I transferred said box to a spot just inside my bedroom door.
For the past 22 months I have passed that box several times every single day and almost every morning I promised myself and anyone else who cared to listen, that I would go through it when I got home that evening – or at the weekend at the latest. Well today I finally opened the box and lo-and-behold it too was filled with……..rubbish. Most of it broken and almost none of it of any value, even of the sentimental kind, because the value these relics from my Dad’s past held were wrapped up in his memories and they mostly passed away with him.
This isn’t meant to be no sad tale, but it is a cautionary one – for me and perhaps for you gentle reader – and the moral is twofold. Firstly, share the meaning of those ‘treasures’ you’ve been guarding in that box or drawer or little suitcase with at least one other soul, or they too will become just another tiny pile of landfill. The second is even simpler, hanging onto the unopened box doesn’t mean saving the memories after they’re gone.
Live long and prosper.