The question posed was straightforward, yet the response is intricate. I have always been a collector of sorts—an avid saver. My tendency to hold onto everything stems from a deep-seated caution. But what exactly am I saving for? Do I really need a copy of my taxes from 1995? An electric bill from 1993? Or the record of my visit to the eye doctor in 1997?
Then came my daughter, armed with a shredder. The sound was music to my ears! However, amidst the shredding, a letter caught my attention. It was addressed to my husband: “Dear Tom, This letter serves to notify you that your student loan has been settled.” I recalled the moment when he sat at our kitchen table in our first apartment, writing that check.
“Here,” I said, handing the letter to my daughter. Vvvrrr. The shredder roared as she continued. As I observed her, I began to wonder what other memories were concealed within that pile. She had been shredding for a few minutes when I could no longer contain myself.
“Wait!” I exclaimed.
A collection of receipts lay scattered before me. One was for copies made at a local print shop, another for faxes sent from a pharmacy, and one for an answering machine. Who still leaves the house to make copies? Do people even fax anymore?
I picked up a bill from a preschool. Instantly, I was transported back to the days of dropping off my little one, bending down to receive a tight hug before she ventured into the classroom. Now, it’s I who reaches up for a hug.
“Can I get back to this now?” my daughter asked, eager to continue.
“Soon.”
Oh! A check stub for $303, won from a radio contest after correctly answering, “What never stops growing?” The answer? “Your nose.” Then, I stumbled upon a pay stub from a trade publication where I worked in my late twenties. My boss had set me up with a reporter she thought I’d like; that job led to my marriage with Tom two years later. The position was filled with long hours, low pay, and considerable stress, but it brought me a wonderful husband.
Nearby was a yellowed receipt from the vet for our beloved tiger-striped cat, who passed away twelve years ago. Next to it was a $20 receipt from the SPCA when we adopted a tiny black-and-white kitten just weeks later.
With so many papers, I questioned what was worth keeping. And what if I weren’t here? Would anyone care about these documents? Would I want someone else to sift through them, deciding their significance? That thought weighed heavily, prompting me to refocus on the present. I reassured myself that as long as these papers remained, so did my memories. Each glance at a document froze time, much like a photograph transports me back to a specific moment. Although I would never part with my pictures, the sheer volume of paperwork necessitated decluttering.
“Mom’s at it again!” my daughter called out to Tom, eyeing the mountain of documents as she awaited her reward.
“Okay,” I replied. “You can have these.” Vvvrrr.
Yet, just as she inserted another sheet, I snatched the remaining pile, clutching it to my chest to prevent any slips as I walked away. Perhaps during my next decluttering session, these documents will finally meet the shredder. But for now, I choose to hold onto them, along with the memories they represent, for a little while longer.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Emma Foster navigates the emotional landscape of paper clutter intertwined with cherished memories. While her daughter enthusiastically engages in shredding, Emma grapples with the significance of each document, contemplating what to keep and what to let go. Ultimately, she decides to hold onto her papers a bit longer, valuing the memories they encapsulate.