by Deanna K. Kreisel (Doctor Waffle Blog)
When my father died a few years ago he left behind a wife with advanced dementia, a large collection of memorabilia from the Franklin Mint, and every one of his tax returns dating back to 1964. Of course he left other things too, including a house and a car and all that kind of thing, as well as his two daughters, a grandson, and one surviving brother. But it was the stuff that came to haunt me. It took forever to go through his desk and study after he died. I wouldn’t call him a hoarder, exactly, because then I would have to call myself one too. The joke I always make about my own … “archival” impulses goes like this: “As long as everything is stored in neatly labelled, chronologically arranged boxes then it’s not hoarding.” (Except it’s not a joke.) I still own every wall calendar I’ve had as an adult, every date book, every beside-the-phone memo pad. And that’s just the paper items: on my computer is every word I’ve written since 1989, every email I’ve sent or received, every party invitation, every For Sale poster, every financial document, every journal entry. All very organized and therefore definitely not a sign of mental illness. Read more »