A friend of mine once told me the most traumatic time in her entire life was when she was cleaning out her mother’s house. This friend’s mother had just been moved to a senior’s home. She hadn’t wanted to go. Who, in their right mind, would want to leave their home and all that is safe and familiar to move into territory that can be perceived by that person as highly hostile? Doesn’t matter if the person keeps losing things, doesn’t remember to turn off the stove, mixes up pills – the human mind will still refuse to acknowledge that it needs help. That is how we are wired. We never know when to ask for help, or, even if we do know it’s time to ask for help we don’t want to. We look on it as loss of dignity, that first step of many steps leading to complete dependence on others.

I look at the stuff we have accumulated over the years and still cannot bear to part with – our kids’ baby clothes, the box of Barbie dolls, a full complement of GI Joes with some still in their original packaging, our daughter’s first story she created in grade 1, our son’s first painting at age 4 – each item comes with its own set of values, call it sentimental, but extremely valuable nevertheless, at the time. Now I try to compromise with our children. If they take what’s theirs then they won’t have to clean up after. After what? They ask in unison. You know, after…I mumble. They fall silent and a few minutes later walk away, quietly. Once again I face defeat. I stare at the boxes and the stirrings of the all too familiar feeling of tiredness washes over me. I’ll deal with it another day, I promise myself, trudging back upstairs to immerse myself, once more, in whatever I was doing before all of this started.

That’s how we are – putting off the obvious. Cleaning up, the word is actually de-cluttering or if you must, downsizing, seems so final – it’s a full circle, the end, or is it the beginning? To another world, to another phase, to another time.

But, there is a lesson to be learned here and it is not all gloom and doom. Each treasured item put away tell its own story, to be unravelled by gentle fingers, memories rekindled, chuckles and smiles all around as those stories are retold by the next generation.

How very beautiful life can be if we remember to see it for its worth instead of rushing through breathlessly without even a backward glance.

I discovered this profound truth when I worked in Toronto.

I had made a practice of taking a walk in the afternoon around the neighbourhood where my office was located and no matter how busy my desk or how inclement the weather, every afternoon found me walking towards Riverdale Farm. This is a working farm with animals, walking trails, long avenues of very old trees lovingly cared by the City and perfect place for children to romp and roam to their hearts’ content. Not a day did I miss walking through this heaven on earth, this gem hidden in the middle of the city, an urban oasis of calm.

This was the time I would let my mind wander as I sat on a rustic bench lifting my face to the gentle rays of the sun which by its very gentleness heralded the advent of spring.  Or other days when I enjoyed a shady spot in the heat of summer, only sound that of buzzing from bees as they collected nectar from clusters of flowers, and children exclaiming in wonder at the black faced sheep. Every day was special. This is where I found inspiration for my poems or had that sudden burst of insight into a chapter of my novel, the one that had stumped me for some time.

Once I discovered this place I wanted to share it with my colleagues. I encouraged them to get out in the fresh air, take care of their health. Managing HR did this to me, being counsellor, a sounding board, a listener. Unfortunately, not too many seemed interested in a walk at lunch time, they would rather enjoy fellowship with colleagues in the lunch room over bowls of food and exchanging pleasantries. This is a good thing too.

I like to create memories out of everyday life being quite happy by myself. But I am not a loner. I do thrive in company – at the right time, that is. But I loved those afternoon walks, happy in my own company.

And, so we have it. The crux of the matter. As human beings each one of us is brought into this world with a very specific set of qualities, fitting into a very specific time slot, molded into an existence that has been determined ages before we even knew that we existed. Just thinking about this profound truth brings me unutterable joy for if we weren’t here this moment, how would we be able to build memories?

Those boxes waiting to be opened stand out as beacons, testimony to a life lived with love, fun and laughter. I will let them be, treasures from our children’s growing years and our lives unfolding together over time, a glimpse into another world.

 

Keep Well…..Keep Smiling

 

 

 

 

Purabi Das

Purabi Das of Pickering, emerging writer and poet, gave up her job to concentrate on writing her first novel, and an anthology of short stories and poems some of which have been published on www.commuterlit.com . Purabi was recently featured at Open Mic organized by Writer’s Community of Durham Region where she read an excerpt from her novel.  Check out Purabi on www.facebook.com/purabisinhadas.