Extreme Minimizing: Blessing others with my abundance

 

Once all the family and friends were gone, it was just me. Alone.

It is difficult to express the incredible sense of depression and loneliness that overcame me at that moment.

The apartment, once the busy “hub” of our two lives intertwined and serving jointly in a higher purpose, was now empty, cold, and still.

Where once I had an apartment buzzing with the TV and Ed talking, I was now surrounded by the remnants of guests, leftover food, and several bouquets of wilting flowers. The oppressive silence weighed heavily on me.

It was so incredibly overwhelming I had to take a nap.

In the weeks that followed I spent much of my time crying and trying to sort things and make lists of things “to do”. As a “task oriented” person, this at least made me feel useful.

I felt very thankful and blessed to those who had helped me with the funeral and the dinner, those who sent flowers, cards, and money. I really felt the desire to let people know how much I appreciated these things, without the internal strength to call everyone. Calling, to me, seemed too overwhelming. Calling people, or talking to people in person, would result in crying, and that was all exhausting.

I gathered the cards on the flowers, and all the cards that I had already received, and began systematically writing thank you cards. Expressing myself by writing cards was very cathartic, and it felt good to reach out to family, church family and friends to let them know how much I appreciated the things they had done for me.

Once I returned to work, I did not have as much spare time to fill. It was easier to do a few things in the evening and call it a day. However, one thing I thought about during this time was my future. Living in the Chicago area was expensive for the two of us, but with only one income there was no way I could afford to remain.

And honestly, I discovered I did not like all the crowds everywhere and the dense traffic that accompanied life in the Chicago suburbs. In fact, months prior I had told Ed I did not want to retire in the Chicago area. I think he was disappointed as he really enjoyed the bustling city.

We met some really great people, but I knew in my heart that I could not stay there. Even though many people told me widows should not make major decisions in the first couple of years, I knew for me, I needed to move. I did not know where, but I knew I was moving.

After I felt at peace with that decision, I began to look around the apartment. Where do I start?

 Did you know Ed was an organ donor? Yes, he wanted to be able to bless others by being an organ donor. And I know of one organ, his cornea, that was donated. I received a letter explaining how his organ donation gave someone a “gift of hope”.

Keeping that desire to be a blessing to others, I decided I needed to see where I could use the things I was “letting go” to be a blessing to others.

I decided first, to check with my kids to see what they might want. I wanted them to have any of Ed’s things they wanted to remember him.

Next, I wandered around my apartment looking at all the things that had made up Ed’s life. The clothes, books, movies, and music that highlighted the things that were important to Ed. These were all things that reflected a story well told of his life, and his faith. Things he cared about deeply, and I just didn’t know how I would begin to part with it all.

I remembered how I felt the times we moved. This was all a lifetime of “Ed”, and did I want to keep it all? What if I had to pack everything myself? Was this something I wanted to do?

The previous lessons learned from moving tipped the scale. I knew I needed to keep only the items that meant the absolute most to me. Again, I asked myself, “where do I start?”

Since I felt so blessed by giving away Ed’s plaid shirts, I decided his clothes would be a sensible place to start.

I began with his unpacked clothes. If he had not unpacked these boxes yet, it was likely clothing he didn’t wear anymore. And it might make the bedroom feel less cluttered by removing these boxes. I felt like that was something I could handle--a place to start.

I spent a day sorting through his clothes in those boxes. Often holding something up and crying, as I remembered occasions where he wore it. The first day I made several piles on my bed without deciding anything. At the end of the day, I needed to move the piles so I could sleep that night.

A few days later I returned to the piles. I started sorting t-shirts versus other shirts, military clothes, and pants. I felt like the t-shirts, because Ed was always big into t-shirts, told a story about his life.

And what he had in plaid shirts, he had three times as many in t-shirts! He had t-shirts from high school all the way to current t-shirts. Many of the t-shirts he designed, as far back as plays in high school, a shirt he designed for our groomsmen when we got married, and one he was hired to design for the Babe Ruth Baseball Tournament.

I decided to keep the t shirts for potential quilts later.

I looked around at all his clothes and wondered what to do with them. There were a variety of sizes, and I didn’t know anyone offhand, who could benefit from everything.

Then I remembered the ministry where Ed and I had served many times on Saturday mornings. The church that sacrificially provided a hot breakfast and sack lunch to homeless and needy every Saturday morning. Every. Saturday. Morning.

They also had a clothing “closet” where they passed out donated clothing items to the guests they served every Saturday. Perfect. I started bagging up his clothes.

My first time dropping off multiple bags of clothes was very cathartic. It felt good knowing that a population Ed had passionately served would benefit from his clothes. I took many coats and shoes as well, donating them all to that ministry.

There was one suit coat though, that I could not bear to part with. A really nice, navy-blue suit coat, which Ed had worn for several occasions recently, one being my cousin’s funeral. He looked very nice in it, and if you knew Ed, you knew he did not wear a suit coat very often.

Once I started donating his things to benefit other people, especially those we had previously served in some way, it felt good knowing other people could benefit from my loss. Much like the organ donation, a part of him was out there somewhere helping someone else. This was exactly the kind of selfless service for others Ed had exemplified on a daily basis. I knew he would have been happy with my decision.

I began to look at the possessions in our apartment with fresh eyes. Eyes that looked at every piece searching for the kind of home I could find for it.

And this applied not only to Ed’s things, but my own as well. What did I really need? What could benefit someone else?

There were many items I decided to send to family. Some things that belonged to mine or Ed’s grandmother, or some books that I thought someone might find useful.

I began a mission to find as many things a meaningful home as possible.

Ed’s books were a big thing, as we had SEVERAL bookshelves filled. Many were books of comics, since Ed had done editorial cartoons for many years. Books containing his cartoons I gave to my kids. But several books on artists Ed admired and books on drawing cartoons I gave to someone who showed a passion for drawing comic books.

We had some missionary friends who had lost their library when they traveled back to the United States. I invited them over and allowed them free reign to take whatever books they thought would be useful to their ministry.

The remainder of his collection of books on Christianity, theology and religion, I donated to a church plant where Ed had once led worship.

In the kitchen we had several sets of dishes. One set of eight of China, two sets of everyday dishes with several pieces missing, some miscellaneous plastic dishes, and I had recently acquired the remnants of the dishes from my childhood. That set was missing so many pieces it was now more like a setting for two. Which, in my current state, was perfect! So, I boxed up all the dishes except for that set.

Our good China I gave to my sweet coworker, who was planning to marry that next summer and would be starting her first home. She was thrilled to get them!

I sorted through all my cupboards and boxed up any excess. Because really, how many mixing bowls or frying pans does one person need? The same thing for silverware—I saved one complete set. Cups and glasses, a few of each and boxed up the rest.

There were 6 boxes of kitchen items containing everything from pots and pans and bowls to silverware, dishes, and wooden spoons. I contacted a former coworker who worked with refugees. I asked if he knew of anyone who might want the boxes.

He did! He knew a refugee couple that had just married and were moving into their first apartment! He drove over one night, and we loaded all the boxes into his van.

            A set of Star Wars coffee mugs I gave to Ed the previous Christmas, I gave to a close friend of Ed’s. Gio was a fellow Star Wars fan, so I asked him if he could stop by so I could give him something. I gave him the mugs, and a painting of a father praying over his child in bed. I knew Ed had loved that painting, and I knew that Gio had kids he prayed for all the time.

Gio teared up when I gave it to him.

I wish I could say I found good homes for everything I decided to part with, but that is not true. Even though it felt fulfilling not only to bless others with these items, but also to lighten my load of what I needed to pack and take with me; there were still many things I donated to secondhand stores. I simply could not spend the time and energy to find homes for absolutely everything. I did my best.

When I moved to Eureka with my friend that next year, I saw a poster at my insurance agent’s office about suit coats being donated for veterans.

You can guess what I did…almost a year after Ed passed. I was finally able to take that navy-blue suit coat and donate it.