Sometimes, stuff that needs to go used to be good

Back in 2001, a few months after buying a first home and moving in, a problem arose when we had a disposal installed in the sink in the 1950s-era kitchen. Within a few weeks, the sink started backing up, and we called a plumber to investigate. It turned out a pipe in the basement was blocked. After working for a while, the plumber called me downstairs. He had disconnected the pipe at a joint, or maybe he had even sawed it in half, I can’t remember. Anyway, he showed me the inside. There was a thick, gray-brown-black sludge that took up almost the entire circumference of the pipe, except for a small passageway through which you could fit a fat preschool-sized pencil, possibly, although it wouldn’t have come out clean. He said that matter builds up over time in pipes much like arteries get clogged, especially when, as was the case with ours, the pipe is basically horizontal and not tilted enough to promote flow. He installed a new ungunked pipe, pitched appropriately to allow gravity to do its work.

At times in my life (such as now, for a variety of reasons) I have felt like my brain is clogged. I have often envisioned it as a sewer pipe that needed to be Roto-Rootered open, and all the sewage shoved through and out. But there’s a nuance I was missing, a complexity that I’m seeing now. Not all of it is sewage. And everything that isn’t sewage doesn’t need to be kept. The kitchen sink pipe contained organic matter that had been important and useful. However, much of it had not been effectively sent on its way. It stalled out and collected and decomposed, and eventually there just wasn’t room for it all.

Me and Frank, Lake George, mid-1970s

All of this has made me think about what we keep regarding people we’ve lost, especially after having recently helped my parents downsize, which demanded sorting through countless folders and boxes of memorabilia. On top of the memories of my brother, I have cards, decades of photographs, cassette tape recordings and Super-8 films from our childhood, favorite toys, autographed drawings of Washington football star Larry Brown (#43), college essays, random notes, emails… Going through it all, even while feeling grateful for what I have, I found myself lamenting deleted voicemails, lost letters, cherished knickknacks that have gone missing over the years. All of these things have been important and useful, and time and circumstances have made them special. But how much room is there for everything – in my space, and in my mind? I’m not sure. Perhaps having lost some special items is okay. Perhaps there are healthy limits. Perhaps whatever can be kept without excessively clogging my mind is enough. (Not all of it is sewage. And everything that isn’t sewage doesn’t need to be kept.)

If you can’t find the letter or the email, if you inadvertently deleted the voicemail, if you’ve lost the photograph or the knickknack or the T-shirt, at what point might that be okay? How might your connection with your loved one be what you need it to be, even grow, without some of the physical reminders that have anchored the memories?

Not all of it is sewage. And everything that isn’t sewage doesn’t need to be kept.