It’s a curious question, but the answer is anything but simple. I’ve always been a collector—of memories, of things, and yes, of papers. I tend to hang on to everything, just in case. Just in case what, you ask? That I might need a tax return from 1995 or an electric bill from 1993? Or perhaps proof that I visited the eye doctor in ’97?
My daughter, Lucy, decided it was time for some serious shredding. Vvvrrr. The sound was music to my ears! But then I spotted something—a letter addressed to my husband, Tom: “Dear Tom, Your school loan has been settled.” Ah, I remembered Tom sitting at our kitchen table in our first apartment after tying the knot, dutifully writing that check.
“Here,” I said, handing a piece of paper to Lucy. Vvvrrr. I watched as she continued to shred, and a thought crossed my mind: What else is in that stack? Just a few minutes in, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Wait!” I exclaimed.
Amidst the chaos were a bunch of receipts. One was for copies made at a nearby shop, another for faxes sent from the corner drugstore, and even one for an answering machine. Seriously, who makes copies outside their home anymore? Do people still fax?
I picked up a bill from a preschool. Instantly, I was taken back to those days of dropping off my little one for class, bending down to embrace her as she hugged me tightly before venturing into the room. Now, it’s the other way around—I’m the one reaching up for hugs.
“Can I get back to this now?” Lucy asked, clearly eager to continue.
“Soon.”
Oh! I found a check stub for $303, earned from a radio contest where I answered the question: “What never stops growing?” Answer: “Your nose.” And what’s this? A pay stub from the trade magazine I worked for in my late twenties, which eventually led me to meet Tom. My boss set up a meeting for me with a reporter, and two years later, we were wed. The job? Long hours, low pay, and a smoky office—but out of it came a wonderful husband.
Nearby lay a faded receipt from the vet for our beloved cat who passed away 12 years ago. Right next to it was a receipt for $20 from the SPCA, dated just a few weeks later when we adopted a tiny black-and-white kitten.
So many papers. What should I keep? I pondered about what would happen if I weren’t around to sort through this pile. Would anyone care? Would I want someone else to sift through my life and decide what mattered enough to keep?
That thought brought me down, so I shifted my focus to the here and now. I told myself: as long as these papers exist, so do my memories. Each time I glance at one, time freezes for a moment, similar to how a photograph can whisk you back to a special day. I could never part with my pictures, but the sheer volume of papers is overwhelming. Time to declutter.
“Mom’s at it again!” Lucy shouted to Tom, eyeing the mountain of documents as she awaited her $5 reward.
“Okay,” I said. “You can have these.” Vvvrrr.
But just as she started shredding the next piece, I clutched the rest of the pile to my chest, determined not to let any fall. Maybe next time I feel the urge to declutter, those papers will make it to the shredder. For now, though, I’ll hold onto them—and the memories they preserve—a little longer.
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Summary
In “My Life in Pieces,” Emma Collins reflects on the emotional weight of keeping mementos and papers that signify moments in her life, from her husband’s loan settlement to her daughter’s preschool days. As she navigates the clutter, she grapples with the memories tied to each piece of paper, ultimately deciding to hold onto them for a little while longer.