The unenviable task of cleaning out a parent’s place, after they die, let me tell you - it sucks!

I have now lost both parents, but with Mom we did not have to clean out her place, she left behind a husband. With Dad it was different, he was by himself and I had no idea what thoughts the seemingly simple task of cleaning out an apartment would bring. The task was scheduled for early AM the day after Dad’s funeral, I was not looking forward to it – at all. Even when we first walked in I got an eerie feeling, like we were violating his privacy. Here we were going through his things, all of his things and it made me ponder for a moment what someone will conclude when my things are gone through. I was having weird feelings about this for sure. Dad was a private person, not many people really knew him and even on this day, I was learning more about him. He had been living in this apartment less than 3 years so I knew everything here was brought here, nothing had been lingering or tucked away in a corner and forgotten years ago. It was all here because he brought it here with him when he moved here. I was convinced before, but am even more so now, that Dad was one of those people that no one could never truly know, not in a meaningful way anyhow.

As we divvied up the duties and got to our tasks it all seemed a bit surreal to me, I was going through his drawers. Before you think something weird, he had this cabinet with drawers that had traveled with him for quite some time and that is where he kept his stuff. His papers, his others papers, little items that he collected through time. He kept his rolodex on top, along with his little TV and other miscellaneous items. My sister was in the kitchen, cleaning out the cupboards and refrigerator, my Brother in law was moving heavy things out, the two mobility carts, a few boxes of tools and other larger items. My Nephew and his wife were going through the bedroom and bathroom. We had decided that all the clothes would be donated to the Vets and all the kitchen items, save a new coffee pot, would be donated back to Rotary Manner, the place where Dad lived out his last years. We had boxes for stuff we were keeping, we had white bags for trash and even bigger black bags for the items that would be donated. I remember thinking it seemed like a military operation, there were X number of tasks that needed to be completed and there were X number of people to complete said tasks and even though it was never mentioned it seemed like we had X number of hours to complete the task. Weird I tell ya.

As I started through the drawers I mostly found paper work, none of which would be thrown away, it would be boxed up to be examined later. I knew that later review would be left to my Sister, in some way I was glad, in another way I felt guilty leaving it for her to deal with. There were all manner of things in those drawers, I found my Uncle’s dog tags and then I found my own. I do not even remember giving them to Dad but there they were, in his drawers. I again got the weird feeling I was invading Dad’s privacy, I would never dream of going through his drawers when he was alive. As I rummaged through the bits of his life, the life he collected, in his drawers I kept thinking how weird this was. With each new item I kept asking myself, what an odd thing to keep, what meaning could this possible hold for Dad. I knew that each and every item here had some meaning, reminded him of some experience or it may have been something he just liked. I tried to pick which category each item was in as I picked through it and placed in its appropriate location. These things were Dad’s things and each had meaning, I wish in some way that I knew the meaning of each, in another way I am glad I don’t know the meaning. I found all manner of what seemed to me to be worthless junk, a box of Revco band aids I thought was holding something other than band aids – nope it held band aids so old that the glue had long ago disappeared and the plastic strips themselves were disintegrating, this was really weird. After the band aids I had to take a break, I went out the common areas behind the building and sat in the swing. It was an OK day, kind of overcast, gray and chilly. I remember looking at a rose bush that had one bloom on it, here it is.

That rose was the only thing that looked like it was living, the trees were all shedding their leaves, the grass appeared to be all done growing and most things looked like they were getting ready for the winter hibernation. I could not get past my feeling about these various items, they all meant something to Dad, but what and why was this important to me. It all seemed so arbitrary to me, keep this item, toss this item in the trash, donate this item to the Vet’s. Weird stuff I am here to tell ya. I convinced myself I would never do this again, for anyone. It took a big emotional toll on me. I was able to fill up the lid of a puzzle box with items that I wanted to keep, nothing of value just some items that I remember him using or liking. The oddest item was a camera, Dad rarely was even in photo’s and I never saw Dad take a picture in my life. Yet here was a camera I later learned was the Cadillac in German camera engineering, purchased in 1954 when he was serving in the army. Who knew!

After the place was empty and everyone had headed downstairs I stayed behind, I just wanted to take a mental image of the place. It was very odd being here in the first place but now it was empty it was really weird. As I looked out the third floor window I found myself staring at the remains of a plastic bag that was stuck in the top of the tree outside his window. My Sister told me that he hated that bag and gave the place no end of grief about getting it removed. It was torn and tattered and only remnants of it remained but it was still there, taunting Dad even in death I remember thinking. As I turned, the walls looked stark, little hooks remaining where pictures and puzzles once hung. The walls were yellowed, the contrast of white where something was protecting the paint was creepy. It reminded of the scene from the Grinch, after he stole everything from whoville, nothing remained, not even a mouse. I walked into the bedroom, the mattress was stripped of all the linens, the dresser was empty as was the closet. One of the dresser drawers was not closed, just sitting there – crooked. I straightened it and pushed it to as well as picked up the three hangers laying on the floor in and hung them in the closet. In the kitchen all the dishes, pots, pans and utensils were sitting there, all lined up like you might see them at a yard sale. They were ready to picked up by “Ducktape” as Dad called him, I do not even know his real name. He is the building maintenance man I believe and he donated some of these items to Dad when he moved in. Seemed only right that we add to the collection and donate them back to whoever may need them next.

As I stood there staring around the place I was struck by the smell. I swear I could make out smells from his places in St. Paris and Millerstown. You know the smell I am talking about, we whisper about it and call it the old people smell and it is more common than we care to admit, I think anyway. As I stood there I realized what that smell is, it is the accumulation of a life time of events and things. A beer spilled on that chair, a cigarette burn on the table and just years of decay. I wandered into the bathroom, it was bare, except for the plastic shower chair. I stared around and as I looked in the mirror I wondered, what will my end be like. I peed, flushed, turned out the light and closed the door. As a locked the door and walked out of the apartment, not Dad’s apartment anymore, I was struck by the length and darkness of the hallway to the elevator. As I walked out, I pondered if this is what we all have waiting for us, this walk down a long dark hallway. I am not sure that the death of both my parents in the same year has sunk in yet and have no idea what the effect will be when it does but at that moment, I felt I like I needed a shower.