What’s Going to Happen to All My Stuff?

By Dr. Nancy Fishman / Morgan Hill, Calif.

I have accumulated too much stuff over the decades. In spite of the many times I have purged, I still have enough for three households. I have no business at all adding to my collections of cake stands and glass water pitchers.

I do think about what will happen to my belongings when I die. I suspect younger generation relatives will pass over the things I have valued. Maybe someone will want an extra pie plate. Perhaps my daughter will want my white dishes.

When my husband Ronnie and I went to Europe for the first time in 1985, we set out to buy some household basics we felt we needed. We had both been divorced; together we didn’t have a matched set of anything other than jelly glasses. In Germany, we ordered white everyday dishes that could be dressed up for special occasions, service for 16. At the same store, we ordered a much-needed good set of pots and pans.

When we got home, the dishes arrived, but the pots and pans did not. After many frustrating conversations with the store, we finally received a huge package. To our dismay, it was another set of white dishes, service for 16. The pots and pans never did come.

When I die, who will want my white dishes, service for 32? Who will want my collection of scarves from around the world, cashmere sweaters or Stuart Weitzman high heels?

The house where Ronnie and I raised our children did not have a basement, thank goodness. It was bad enough we had an oversized garage, room enough to accumulate stuff. Whenever we cleaned the garage, we would hold up each item and determine if we intended to move it to the condo we thought we would be living in during old age. We made three piles: Keep, Donate, Decide Later.

But now, I look around my house feeling quite comfortable with my collections, evidence that I have lived a life, that I have memories and souvenirs to show for it. Do I feel sorry for my daughter who will have to hold up each item and determine to Keep, Donate or Decide Later? Yeah, a little. Once in a while, I attempt to purge simply to make it easier on her in the end.

In Sweden, people purposely engage in an activity they call “death cleaning.” With deliberation, they give away most of their belongings while they are still alive to spare their loved ones the chores associated with someone’s final details.

I watched my first mother-in-law do death cleaning. Little by little, she systematically reduced the quantity of her earthly possessions down to two medium-sized cartons that were easy to move to assisted living. I admired her detachment and consideration for her daughter. I keep wondering if I will ever feel motivated to follow her modeling.

So, there I was today in Home Goods. I told myself as I entered the store, “You are not going to buy one more thing!” I made my way through the aisles, admiring the merchandise, and nearly hyperventilating with excitement from all the temptations. Finally, at the cash register, I had only three items: a dog toy for my niece’s new puppy, a box of Hanukkah candles, and yet one more glass water pitcher!

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This column is devoted to psychological topics that speak to the human condition, such as relationships, family, love, loss, and happiness. The ideas, thoughts, philosophies, and observations expressed here are personal and not meant as professional advice. Names and identifying information have been changed to protect the privacy of real people.

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Dr. Nancy Fishman moved to Santa Clara County in 2016 from Michigan, where she was a practicing psychologist. Currently, she is a strategy consultant to individuals, families, businesses, family law attorneys and their clients--working on coping, managing, reorganizing, pivoting and innovating. She is the founder of Forgotten Harvest, one of the nation’s largest food recovery operation, and is also the creator of Silicon Valley’s A La Carte food recovery and distribution initiative. Nancy lives on a family compound with her husband, sisters, brother-in-law, and a pack of dogs.

NancyFishmanPhD.com

ForgottenHarvest.org