One man’s trash was our life’s treasurers

We have all undertaken a ‘Spring clean’ at some stage of our life. That time when the dreaded declutter has to take place. It doesn’t matter how old we are, even young children have to clean out their rooms sometimes, especially if one is packing to move to a new home. Examining each item, asking the question “Will I keep this or not? Does it serve a purpose? Will I ever need it again?” Each of those questions when asked offers us a choice. The ability to determine if we still want to hang onto that possession or whether its usefulness has expired. We make the choice whilst remembering any good times associated with that possession but it is our choice and we are accepting of that. Grief may come into the equation if we have loved the possession but it is now broken, or no longer of any use or no longer fits us, or there are precious memories attached to that item. There will be grief but it is minimal and we can live with that. But what happens when there is no choice and you are faced with having to document what will be disposed of because it cannot be remediated or you can’t afford the cost of remediation and it is cheaper to destroy it?

The answer is gut wrenching grief that tears at the soul and shatters the heart into a million pieces and you wonder if it will ever heal again. Whilst they are merely possessions and many do not cause any pain to dispose of them, some are very precious, like the woodwork project your son did that you have carried and treasured for thirty five years, something that can never be replaced, and something you can’t just go out and buy a new one. The tiny teddy bear your husband gave you when you first met or the painting a dear friend had specially created for you.

This was what faced my husband and I in the days up to having to have our possessions removed from the contaminated property we had been renting. The cost of testing and cleaning, when there was no guarantee anything could really be cleaned or be safe to use again, was just mind boggling. There was research available that demonstrated that certain types of furnishings would absorb more than others and that some could be remediated, maybe, to a safe level but then the question remains “what is a safe level?” No-one really knows because more research is desperately needed but no government will fund it of course because most don’t want to really know the answer.

So faced with having to make a decision, given insufficient time to obtain preliminary testing results of a few items before we had to have our possessions removed from the property, we had to make a decision that week. Photos had been taken of everything we could find in the house and a spreadsheet had been created with a detailed assessment of price to replace each item (by the way make sure you keep ALL dockets when you buy something AND take photos to prove you have it). I spent most of the days doing this in a complete state of despair. Tears flowed when my husband was not around because I knew he was just as upset so I tried to keep my composure, as he did for me, so as not to add to his distress.

The saddest thing was that these items would be smashed and destroyed, at least that is what the company who had agreed to come and take them away had assured us would happen, it didn’t, but that is for another story, one you REALLY need to read if you are ever find yourself in our situation.

Gone was the retro dining table and chairs we found just by chance after searching for years for a really nice one. Gone was the fake wedding cake I made out of hat boxes last year because of COVID and the fact that when we got married you could not have a real wedding cake. Hours of work and love had gone into making that but it could not be salvaged. The fridge that we had only had a couple of years and we still hadn’t finished paying off had to go, the food we had stored away in case of another lockdown, the pencil case my son, who died aged 20, had made as a young teenager all had to go. Knowing that as retirees we would not be able to afford very much I had bought up at the sales, clothes to last us a few years, all now contaminated. The sailing ship my dad carved sixty years ago and my mum made the sails for now at risk. The brand new mattress and doona and doona cover all lost. The list goes on and on. The sudden shock as you realise “oh no, not that as well” to some much treasured item that you find is in one of the photos.

What will never leave my memory is the sound of those possessions being smashed and thrown into a trailer, the knowledge that to those people doing this your things are nothing more than rubbish, worthless rubbish, but to us many of them were very, very precious.

Yes it is gut wrenching, truly gut wrenching and what makes it worse is dealing with the callousness of those who do not care, who have no compassion or empathy or conscience. Those who should be aware and acting to protect innocent people, those who should be regulating to stop this but instead are avoiding the fact that they have a very, very big problem coming like a tsunami in their direction.

Yes its gut wrenching and heart breaking but what you also discover is the love that some people will shower you with, the help they will give to assist you overcome the pain, the care they will take to be loving, responsible adults. So you tell your heart that you have the photos, the memories and they can’t take that away and that it will heal one day but for now somehow that time seems a long, long way off.