I got to finish cleaning out my Mom's stuff from her cousin's barn! Yay! I feel so good about that, because of course one always wonders if one will find a stack of secret journals. Nope, of course not. Self-help books, books about spiritual growth, psychology and sociology textbooks, and sci-fi and fantasy novels. All had been nested upon by raccoons (and probably cats before that) and most went into the dumpster.

I did secure a fair number of photographs, in varying degrees of condition from fair to terrible. And a few scraps of stuff in her handwriting, though mainly those were quotes she wrote out because they mattered to her.

So many unpaid and unopened bills. Alongside where she had written something like "learning more equals earning more!" and many indications she was in classes (not just the text books). Letters from lawyers and collection agencies, and indications she was trying to budget and save money and run two businesses. She was so far behind the eightball that she couldn't have dug herself out with a backhoe, but she accepted the societal judgement that it was all her own fault, and beat herself up about it. Yes, she didn't always make wise decisions, but then again one doesn't when under stress.

And so many empty envelopes, and untouched paper pads. Paper (in her mind) was too expensive to actually use, and the envelopes might be used as paper or reused as envelopes.

I don't want to leave the same sort of thing for whoever cleans out my stuff.

It took, what, five years? six years? for me to be able to feel at the place to handle this.
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