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Letting Go of Sentimental Items (Fragment)
By Joshua Fields Millburn
My mother died (16) 2009. She lived a thousand miles away, and it was my responsibility (17) vacate her apartment in Florida. It was a small, one-bedroom place, but it was packed wall-to-wall with her belongings. Mom had great taste (she could have been an interior designer), and none (18) her stuff was junk. Nevertheless, there was a lot of stuff in her home.
Mom was constantly shopping, always accumulating more stuff: She had antique furniture throughout her apartment, a stunning oak canopy bed (19) consumed almost her entire bedroom, two closets jam-packed with clothes, picture frames standing (20) every flat surface, original artwork adorning the walls, and tasteful decorations in every nook, cranny, and crevasse. There was 64 years of accumulation in that tiny apartment.
So, I did what any son (21) do: I rented a large truck from U-Haul. Then I called a storage place back in Ohio to make sure they had a storage unit that was big enough. The truck was $1600, the storage facility was $120—financially I could afford (22), but I quickly discovered the emotional cost was much higher.
Initially, I did not want to let go of anything. If you have ever lost a parent, a loved one, or been through a similarly emotional time, then you understand exactly how hard it was for me to let go of any of those possessions. So instead of letting go, I wanted to cram every trinket, figurine, and piece of oversized furniture into that storage locker in Ohio, floor to ceiling. That way I knew (23) Mom’s stuff was there if I ever wanted it if I ever needed access to it for some incomprehensible reason. I even planned to put a few pieces of Mom’s furniture in my home as subtle reminders of her.
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Letting Go of Sentimental Items
My mother died (16) in 2009. She lived a thousand miles away, and it was my responsibility (17) to vacate her apartment in Florida. It was a small, one-bedroom place, but it was packed wall-to-wall with her belongings. Mom had great taste (she could have been an interior designer), and none (18) of her stuff was junk. Nevertheless, there was a lot of stuff in her home.
Mom was constantly shopping, always accumulating more stuff: She had antique furniture throughout her apartment, a stunning oak canopy bed (19) that consumed almost her entire bedroom, two closets jam-packed with clothes, picture frames standing (20) on every flat surface, original artwork adorning the walls, and tasteful decorations in every nook, cranny, and crevasse. There was 64 years of accumulation in that tiny apartment.
So, I did what any son (21) would do: I rented a large truck from U-Haul. Then I called a storage place back in Ohio to make sure they had a storage unit that was big enough. The truck was $1600, the storage facility was $120—financially I could afford (22) it, but I quickly discovered the emotional cost was much higher.
Initially, I did not want to let go of anything. If you have ever lost a parent, a loved one, or been through a similarly emotional time, then you understand exactly how hard it was for me to let go of any of those possessions. So instead of letting go, I wanted to cram every trinket, figurine, and piece of oversized furniture into that storage locker in Ohio, floor to ceiling. That way I knew (23) that Mom’s stuff was there if I ever wanted it if I ever needed access to it for some incomprehensible reason. I even planned to put a few pieces of Mom’s furniture in my home as subtle reminders of her.