Thanks for the Memories

One of my favourite TV programmes is “The Repair Shop”. I am always amazed and seriously impressed at the artisans who can take something old, damaged, or in disrepair and transform it to look like new, or preserved old, depending on the wishes of their customers. Alongside that are the stories behind the items, usually belonging to a now deceased relative, which adds a depth and poignancy to them.

Of course, all of them cut me to the heart and I end up crying more times than not. As they look on a dilapidated pair of boots, a broken chair, a smashed ornament or a cuddly toy with no stuffing covered in years of dust and dirt, and transfer all their emotions of love, grief, and happy memories onto the object which represents the one who is no longer present. All the participants say similar things, about how they feel as if they have a part of their loved ones back when the items are returned.

I can guarantee that, like me, everyone reading this will have way too much stuff. After living in the same house for almost forty years, I have A LOT. Each year, at this time, I try to have a clear out of the clutter, and I feel much better for it, as if the weight of all those things pulls me down emotionally and mentally. If you’ve ever seen the film Labyrinth, you will remember the old junk lady piling Sarah’s possessions in her arms to stop her from rescuing her baby brother, weighing her down with toys and ornaments. I’ve always thought it’s a great picture of how possessions can trap us and stop us from becoming more than we are.

When my mum’s dementia made it dangerous for her to live alone, we moved her into a care home. We then had the massive task of clearing out her big three-bedroom detached house, which was full of her things, paring it down to fit into a single room. At one time, she would have been able to tell you where every ornament and knick-knack came from, who bought them, and what they meant to her. To us, they were rubbish. Her much-loved items all went to the local charity shop or into the rubbish bin.

It's a sobering thought.

After I’m gone, the likelihood is that no-one will want the cracked figure of an Indian lady in a sari and veil, which used to be my grandmothers. The tiger that was a gift from my first official fiancée will end up in an Oxfam shop. The empty box with a poem on the front, gifted to me by my dad, is more likely to end up in the bin.

And I will be absolutely fine with it, because I won’t have any use for them where I’m going!

Which got me thinking about the treasures that I would like to leave behind, things that will be a symbol for the love people have for me and a way to remember me when I am finally with my Saviour.

Of course, the first thing I have are my books, which represent years of work into which I have poured my heart and soul. They will live on after me. But not everyone has the time or inclination to write a book. So, what might you gift to your descendants?

I have pictures which my mum painted or embroidered. Every time I look at them, I think of her. My nieces chose items of their grandma’s jewellery to wear and remember her by. My husband picked two tiny ornaments when his nan died. None of the items were worth much, if anything, but they represented a memory or a snapshot of time.

I’d love someone to have my extensive collection of books, but my son and daughter-in-law are not readers. I have, however, told them to examine everything before they get rid of it, as I have a tendency to squirrel money away in the unlikeliest places. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had used a £5 note for a bookmark at some time. They probably won’t want my shelf full of cuddly toys, either, although I'm hoping my granddaughter will want to care for Snowy, the teddy bear that I've had since I was born.

I am creating something special, just for her. (I mentioned this in an early blog post,) First, I’m writing her letters. I don’t know how long I’m going to have with her, but I want her to know me, even if she only has a vague memory of me. My letters talk about how I feel about her, relate stories about her dad, tell her of my beliefs, and sketch out my hopes and dreams for her future.

The other project I have decided to do this year is create Nana’s Book of Wisdom. In it, I intend to write down lessons I’ve learnt, life hacks, sage advice, and cautionary tales. It won’t be published (at least not by me) but will be hers to ponder over and refer to throughout her life.

At the very least, she can use them to light a fire!

At the end of the day, stuff is not important. The Repair Shop may restore things to a time when they were shiny and new, or before they were broken, but the items, lovely as they are, are not the real focus. It’s about memories. Instead of accumulating more stuff this year, concentrate on building more memories with parents who are getting older; children who will move away and have busy lives of their own; sisters and brothers who are far off; friends who you haven’t seen in an age. Make a date in your diary. Plan them into your schedule. Make an impromptu visit.

Make it a year to remember.